


Black Sun

by famoustruth



Series: The Prince's Consort [2]
Category: Original Work, The Prince's Consort
Genre: Action, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adventure, Age Difference, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anti-Social Disorder, Boys In Love, Cringe, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Fantasy, Fighting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, Psychosis, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 76,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/famoustruth/pseuds/famoustruth
Summary: Frey Blackwood knew his life wasn't simple, between being the general of the Tierian army and Councilman to the king. But when a chance encounter brings a new, golden-eyed problem into his life, everything he knows about himself and what he wants, changes forever.
Relationships: Frey Blackwood/Luka Emir Ashai, Renton Kyro Ashai/Tristan Crane
Series: The Prince's Consort [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074857
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, if you read my The Prince's Consort, thank you! m( - -)m I don't think this one will make much sense if you haven't.
> 
> Anyways, here's the second story that was "meant" to be "just a couple of chapters" of Frey's perspective then I tripped and fell into a cave and a worm ate me so I spent my time as a ghost writing this. (First draft written between 7/5/20 and 8/3/20) It's basically everything nobody asked for! MORE crying? (Sorry, 언니!) MORE pointless, embarrassing angst? MORE k-drama level dramatic plot twists? LESS likeable characters? (Apparently, according to my fiance, but what does he know?) LESS fun action/fighting? If TPC was 20% angst 80% fluff 100% cringe, I guess Black Sun would be 80% angst 20% fluff 100% crack. It's supposed to be the degenerate side of the coin or something. That means significantly more sex scenes, hence the E rating. Also everyone's mad. But still a happy ending! uwu
> 
> Additional (possibly spoilerish?) warnings:  
> Very brief (literally 1 or 2 sentences) mentions of suicidal intent, one instance of dub-con (if you squint?), one m/m/m scene at the very end (it makes sense I swear), the age difference is 10 years for anyone who cares, yandere ʘ‿ʘ

Frey let out a deep sigh, tightening the straps on his horse’s saddle one last time. The sleepy winter sun was barely peeking over the horizon, painting the sky a blushing pink as he mounted the tall white beast in a single, swift motion. Frey looked behind at the silent town before departing through the open gates; he had always planned to return to Lorelai in the upcoming weeks, but a surprising letter from Tristan, announcing that Kyro had come to visit and urging Frey to come home immediately, hastened his timeline. Frey was never enthused when it concerned the boisterous king of Rien and was even more irked that Kyro had sojourned to Lorelai without so much as a visit to check on the project  _ he _ was responsible for pitching. In the end, it wasn’t as if Frey could disobey a direct order from his king so he dutifully packed his bags and charted a course for the capital city.

The general had spent the past couple of months overseeing the final construction and security of the joint outpost town at the base of the eastern mountains in Tristan’s stead, supervising the various builders and craftsmen from Tieria and Rien who were working together to raise the settlement. The town was just shy of being completed, only stymied from finishing by the impending bite of winter. Currently, the only occupants were a few early movers ready with enough provisions to last through the cold season and the small guard duty Frey had left behind. The town would eventually become a waypoint for travelers and merchants looking to traverse the arduous mountain range, although it was now a journey made considerably safer by Rien’s efforts to construct a passageway. By spring, the new residents of Harmony would be settled in and the pass open for use.

In the meantime, Frey had to focus on making it back to Lorelai in one piece. He and his trusted steed, Bella, were no strangers to harsh traveling conditions. But, that didn’t mean he was willing to run the both of them ragged to rush back to the capital for a non-emergency in the middle of winter. Frey instead plotted his route to wind through the more populated regions between Harmony and Lorelai, planning to stop for a couple days to rest at the large eastern city of Mistfall, as opposed to cutting a straight line across uninhabited plains-turned-snowfields. This path would take longer, perhaps closer to a week and a half or two, but Frey would allow himself at least that much comfort for his journey.

He rode hard for several days, stopping for the night when he could in the various small villages and farms he passed. Right when the snowstorm he had been outrunning was at his back, he finally reached the gates of Mistfall. The city was massive in its own right - separated into rings and quadrants like Lorelai, just not tiered - and was known for handling the bulk of the country’s agricultural produce. The region surrounding Mistfall was primarily farmland, and outside of food, raw materials such as textiles, lumber, and even metal or stone from the outlying mountains, were exported to all parts of the kingdom.

After settling his horse in the city’s holding stables, Frey walked through the quiet streets, the hem of his heavy cloak whipping about in the icy wind and a traveling pack slung over his shoulder. Night had already fallen and the moon illuminated his path until he located a homey but respectable looking inn bearing a weathered hanging sign that read ‘Eden.’ Under fairer weather, the streets of the city would still be busy with activity even late at night, but the cold had long since driven everyone to conduct their business indoors. Likewise, travelers were considerably rarer that time of year, with the exception of himself.

Upon entering, the inn welcomed Frey with a rush of warmth and the slightest scent of spices, but a single voice was the only sound to be heard aside from the tinkling of a bell hanging from the top of the door.

“Evenin’, sir. What can I do for you?”

An older man with short, silver curls and circular spectacles called out to Frey from behind a long wooden counter. Although he was later on in his years, the man still exuded strength and vibrancy, with a youthful face that looked like it was always on the verge of cracking a smile. He was in the middle of sorting through various documents when Frey entered the establishment. The man eyed Frey’s dark figure cautiously, noting his tall stature and the longsword that hung at his waist. His suit was undecorated for casual wear, but still black and of a sharp military cut, making him look as imposing as ever.

Frey crossed the empty dining room until he stood in front of the bar, before the man. He pulled off his hood, revealing a youthful but sharp and closed off face. Despite the rigorous journey he was in the middle of, there were no bags beneath his upturned eyes and the neutral look he leveled at the innkeeper was steady. Frey’s deep blue gaze sparked some interest in the other man as they sized each other up silently for a few moments.

“I’d like a private suite and a hot meal, please,” Frey said in a quiet but respectful tone.

“Sure thing, just give me a moment and you can sit yourself down for the time being,” the man smiled, relieved that the stranger didn’t seem to be a ruffian or criminal. As he shuffled the papers into a neat pile and stowed them below the counter, the innkeeper muttered to himself. “Now where is that boy... Ah, Sol, perfect timing. Go prepare the dahlia suite for our new guest, will ya?”

Frey had sat down at the bar when a door along the far side of the room opened. He could hear light steps approaching from behind him and was uninterested to take a look at the innkeeper’s helper when what he heard next caused him to nearly fall out of his seat.

“Yes, Gramps,” said a bored but softly feminine voice, its owner pausing at the counter to deposit a sheet of paper covered in various numbers and markings. “I finished updating the inventory list. We’re running low on mulling spices.”

Although the newcomer spoke properly, there was the obvious hint of an accent marring his speech - one that Frey had become quite accustomed to hearing as of late.

“Atta boy,” the old man said, ruffling the youth’s hair from across the bar. “Since your gran is sleeping, I’ll go heat up some stew for the gentleman.” He hummed a quiet tune while disappearing beyond a door behind the bar that led to the inn’s kitchen.

Although the innkeeper referred to the other as “boy,” Frey was stunned to see a tall and lithe male, probably only a few years younger than Tristan, standing beside him. The youth had warm skin the color of tea mixed with a splash of milk and smooth locks of dark hair that fell gently around his face, longer on one side than the other. His facial features were delicate but strong, lines similar to a graceful feline predator. Despite possessing a sweet countenance, Frey could sense he was not weak or a pushover - the kid probably had quite an attitude. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing lean but toned arms, under an open vest. His dark pants hid long legs that could rival Frey’s own, and the only accessory on his body was a black choker with a metal ring in the middle around his neck, peeking out from under his buttoned up collar. A captivating beauty mark by the corner of one eye drew Frey’s gaze, at which point he ended up moving suddenly.

Frey stood up with a clatter, scabbard knocking against the wood of the bar, and grabbed Sol’s wrist as he turned to leave. The force of being withheld caused Sol to be yanked backward, pivoting on his heel to stand face to face with Frey. The youth was quite tall but Frey still had several inches on him, causing the former to glare upward. The first thing Frey noticed was the color of Sol’s eyes: they glittered brilliantly, the rich golden hue was of a burning sunset over the ocean, waves creating endless sparkles that played under the light. The second was their depth, for like the ocean they seemed to draw one in, down to an unfathomable and bottomless dark pit. Something in the back of Sol’s gaze sent a shiver to the base of Frey’s spine; he felt like something sinister was staring back at him, hidden beyond Sol’s facade.

“You’re hurting me,” Sol said. His voice was sharp yet still melodious, as if it were a song of danger warning Frey that if he didn’t let go, there would be dire consequences.

The youth’s words snapped Frey back to the present, causing him to release his grip on the other’s wrist, which was considerably more slender in comparison to his own. If Frey exerted even a little extra pressure, he could easily crack the bones with one hand.

“...I apologize,” Frey said flatly as Sol drew his arm back, rubbing his bruised wrist. “I was just surprised, you look very much like someone I know.”

Sol continued to glare daggers at Frey but cautiously backed up without a word, until he was close enough to the stairs leading to the upper level of the dining room and further upward to the guest room floors. His lips turned down slightly before he finally retreated upstairs, not stopping until he reached the third landing, where the single occupancy suites were.

Frey sighed and sat back down on the bar stool, shaken to his core. Over the time he had spent on the Harmony project, he had encountered many of Rien’s natives, working side by side to develop the town. They spoke roughly the same language as the Tierians, albeit with a unique accent, and for the most part were characterized by tan skin and dark hair.  _ How could someone from Rien possibly end up all the way out here? _ he thought. The mountainous kingdom’s borders had been held tightly shut for generations; Rien had only just recently begun proactively moving toward a more open policy under Kyro’s rule. But given the fact that Sol was so young, it was perplexing that he definitely had traces of the accent of someone who had grown up in Rien. He must only have recently left his home kingdom, perhaps even within the last few years.

The bigger problem, however, was Sol’s inexplicable resemblance to  _ him _ . Although it wasn’t obvious that Sol was a fighter, Frey could tell from his form and movement that at some point in his life, he had trained as a warrior. If Kyro was the very definition of brute strength and dominance, then Sol was the other side of the coin - flexible and precise, but still just as explosive and equally deadly. Frey could imagine a younger Kyro looking quite similar to Sol, just more rough and masculine. However, interestingly enough, he could barely detect the presence of his aura, if he was an aura user at all.

He sat in silence, contemplating his thoughts when the innkeeper eventually returned bearing a tray loaded with a steaming bowl of stew and a warm roll of bread.

“A bit late for dinner but this’ll fill you right up!” he said cheerfully, placing the tray along with a glass and pitcher of water in front of Frey with a flourish.

“Thank you,” Frey said before lifting a spoon to his lips. It was a basic meat and vegetable stew, but the temperature was just right and it was well seasoned, so he had no complaints.

“I hope you don’t mind me chatting you up, but ‘tis the quiet season and we don’t get many travelers these days. What brings you to Mistfall?” the innkeeper asked.

“I’m just passing through,” Frey said quietly in between sips of soup. “I will be heading out in a day or two, at most.” Under normal circumstances, Frey would have preferred to eat his meal in peace and solitude. However, he figured if he wanted to ask some prying questions related to Sol, he would have to put up with some small talk first.

“Well, I hope you don’t have too far to go,” the old man said, scratching his head and pushing his spectacles up with one finger. “The storm passing over probably won’t calm down for a few days. It could be dangerous if you get caught in it.”

Frey nodded his head in acknowledgement when a couple creaks on the wooden staircase announced Sol’s reappearance. He still bore a slight frown on his face, eyes narrowed at Frey in mistrust. From where he stood at the top of the stairs where it met the upper level of the hall, Sol reared back and threw a small object at Frey with great speed and accuracy. Equally adroitly, Frey plucked the projectile out of the air with one hand, barely looking up from his food. It was a metal key on a small ring with a wooden medallion also strung through. The motif of a flower was carved into the wood; Frey was no florist but guessed it was a dahlia.

“Sol!” The innkeeper scolded. “You can’t be so rude to a customer!”

The youth merely scowled in response and stomped back up the stairs, fading from view.

“Och, I’m so sorry for his behavior. Kids these days can be so temperamental, y’know?”

“It’s no issue,” Frey said. After a beat, he continued, “He’s not really your grandson, is he?”

The man let out a heavy sigh, blowing out powerfully as he supported himself by leaning both his arms on the counter.

“That obvious, huh? Although even if he were ours, I doubt he’d be any easier to handle!” he chuckled sadly. “But no, Sol ain’t my kin. Me and my wife, Mila - the name’s Jude, by the way - were out visiting my brother’s farm to the southeast several years ago. We found him on the outskirts just lying off to the side of the road, one breath away from death. Malnourished, battered and bruised, and sick as a dog! We took him with us and the boy spent nigh a full week asleep in bed after being treated. My brother didn’t think he’d make it, but Sol proved him wrong, eh? He’s a resilient one, he is.” Jude shook his head, lost in memories from years past.

“The real kicker was that when he woke up, the poor lad had no recollection of who he was at all. He could talk fine and knew only a few real basic things, just not his name or where he had come from. Didn’t even have any knowledge of this fair land! Mila took a real shine to him, as we never had kids of our own, so we figured it would be better to take him back to the city. Much more interesting and a fair bit more sights to see than on a secluded farm, yeah? We hoped that his memory loss was only temporary, but the beginning of spring’ll mark three years he’s been with us now.” Jude sighed again but then gave a sad smile.

“At the very least, we hope he’s happy with the life he’s living now. I can only imagine what kinda struggles he had been through to end up so lost and broken.” He wiped a couple stray tears from his eyes before continuing, “That boy acts strong on the outside, but Mila and me know he’s just hurtin’ on the inside. The emptiness from losing yourself ain’t something two old fogies can fill, but damned if we don’t try. And he’s no quitter either, you can see how brightly his eyes shine. S’why we decided to call him Sol, after the sun.”

Frey sat quietly listening to Jude’s ramblings, having long since finished his food. Despite the warmth from the sustenance now coursing through his body, a cold touch had crept into Frey’s heart. The location of Sol’s appearance was plausible and the timing lined up perfectly.  _ Could Sol be a refugee from the night Darius attacked Rien? _ he asked himself. Frey couldn’t bear to even think aloud the more important question, with frightening but critical implications: was Sol a member of the late Rien royal family? If so, that meant he had quite possibly discovered one of Kyro’s younger brothers, and his only living relative.

His thoughts were in turmoil as he retired to his room for the night. Although not the largest or most lavish, the suite was still well appointed and clean. He filled the porcelain tub in the corner of the room with steaming water and soaked the soreness from days of riding out of his body. Frey’s traveling schedule, not unlike when the army was on the move, caused him to be awake or asleep at odd hours of the day. It was already quite late into the night, and he figured it would be later still until he would finally fall asleep. Since he planned to rest for a day or two in Mistfall, Frey expected to sleep for most of the following day.

He had dried off and changed into clean clothes, about to sort through a stack of reports he had been preparing, when his well trained ears suddenly picked up the sound of agile steps creeping down the inn’s staircase. Frey’s brow knit in consternation, wondering where the youth was heading in the middle of the night. He grabbed the well-worn midnight blue cloak that he had hung off a hook on one of the bedposts and slipped into the dark hallway, gliding soundlessly down the stairs a good distance behind his mark. Sol was bundled up in dark fabric, bracing himself against the cold as he opened the front door and exited. Frey waited a few moments before slipping out as well, catching the tall and dark form heading down the street.

The inn was located in one of the mixed residential and mercantile neighborhoods, so it was quieter and more empty than the shop and restaurant lined streets of Mistfall’s economic downtown. Sol walked through several blocks then crossed half of the business district on quick, light feet, Frey constantly remaining hidden a safe distance behind. They passed a few seedy looking shadows lurking about, but otherwise the streets were relatively empty. It wasn’t until they entered the next quadrant of the commerce ring that things seemed a bit more lively. A couple drunkards stumbled about, confused smiles plastered on their red faces, while alluring voices and coy, painted lips called out to passersby like sirens from warmly lit buildings.

_ What the  _ hell  _ is he doing in the red-light district? _ Frey thought in alarm. His eyes tracked Sol’s figure as it entered an establishment that, after a quick look, to Frey’s relief, seemed to be a regular tavern. Frey paced outside for a couple minutes before deciding to go inside. It was just a tavern, it’s not like he wasn’t allowed to go out for a drink on his own.

He pushed open the door to the quiet bar, the air thick, warm, and hazy, muted conversation entering his ears. Frey kept his hood up as he quickly found an empty secluded corner table and sat down, looking around furtively for Sol. He found the other seated at the counter with a drink in front of him, his cloak draped across his lap and the top buttons of his shirt casually undone. The choker Sol wore accentuated the dip of his collarbone, which when paired with his exposed neck and tendrils of soft hair, painted quite an alluring picture. Frey wondered if Sol was even old enough to drink, desperately trying to recall if Kyro ever mentioned how old his siblings were.

Frey sat quietly for some time, nursing his own cup and monitoring Sol from afar. He thought,  _ hoped _ , the other was just out for a night of lonely drinking, but after some time discovered that was not the case. Eventually Sol had caught the eye of another patron, a man - old enough to be his father - dressed in a refined suit. He had ordered a drink especially for Sol, easily sliding into the seat beside him and holding out his offering with a handsome grin. Sol looked the man up and down out of the corner of his eye, thick lashes fluttering demurely. He gave a small smile in return and accepted the drink, taking a sip and licking his lips suggestively. The two talked for a bit, even exchanging a light laugh here and there as well as casual yet surreptitious touches.

Watching the scene before him, Frey gripped his mug so tightly the fired clay threatened to crack. He honestly wasn’t quite sure why he was so fixated on supervising Sol, but somehow felt a strange duty to protect him, given the possible nature of his identity. Growing up, Frey was an only child. The closest person he ever had to a sibling was the current king of Tieria, six years his junior. Although to others Frey seemed like a cold and aloof individual, he always had a soft spot for doting on the young crown prince, staying by the lonely youth’s side as a diligent guardian. Perhaps empathizing with Sol’s troubled adolescence and noting the lack of his true older brother’s guidance, Frey felt the need to act as Kyro's proxy and look after Sol.

So when the older man leaned in to whisper something in Sol’s ear, trailing a roaming hand down the other’s slender waist, Frey had moved before he even realized it.

“What are you doing?” he said icily, grabbing the man’s hand and twisting it back painfully.

Sol looked up in surprise at Frey’s stern expression, half obscured by the shadows from his hood, while the man who was suddenly attacked yelped in pain. He wrenched himself free from Frey’s hold and quickly drew back, a furious look on his face.

“Don’t go advertising yourself when you already have a partner,” he seethed before stalking off angrily.

Sol rolled his eyes and lifted his drink to his lips, intending to finish it off in one gulp when Frey roughly grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to his feet.

“Come on, I’m taking you home,” he said gruffly, shoving Sol in the direction of the door.

Sol could only let out a stream of curses, beating at Frey fruitlessly with the cloak that was bundled up in his free hand as he was helplessly pulled along like a ragdoll.

“Fuck, what is your deal!” Sol yelled hoarsely into the night, out of breath from trying to fight back against Frey’s grip. He dug his heels into the ground as hard as he could, hoping to slow down Frey’s long strides. Frey suddenly stopped, causing Sol’s momentum to almost fling him forward toward the ground. He whirled around to face Sol, his hood flying back to reveal two blazing eyes focused on the other, like blue flames burning out of control.

“What is  _ my  _ deal? What were you hoping to gain from getting picked up by a middle aged man who probably has a wife and kids waiting for him at home? Please tell me you’re not that desperate for love or attention,” Frey lectured coolly.

Sol was momentarily cowed under the pressure of Frey’s judgment, but stubbornly stood his ground.

“Love? What a joke, don’t make me laugh. I bet Jude told you all about my sob story, huh? Well stop projecting your own theories as you like,” he spat. “You don’t know me,  _ I  _ don’t even know  _ you _ ! So why the fuck are you in my business and getting in the way of my work?” Sol spoke his mind brazenly but regretted his last words the moment they left his mouth. If he thought Frey was frightening before, the fury that now appeared on his face made his expression from mere seconds ago look like a benevolent angel in comparison. Sol was terrified of how Frey was going to react next, but the anger disappeared just as quickly as it had come, immediately replaced by a placid and emotionless mask.

“Are you selling yourself?” Frey spoke after a few moments of silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

Somehow, the calm and quiet Frey was infinitely scarier to the loud and argumentative one. Sol looked away, unable to meet Frey’s piercing eyes.

“Wh-what does it matter to you,” he managed to mumble pathetically in response.

“Do your guardians know?”

Sol continued to look everywhere and nowhere at the same time, eventually sighing and shaking his head. His breath formed a cloud in front of him, slowly rising into the air and dissipating among the twinkling stars. It was then that he realized with a shiver that he had never put his cloak back on after being chased outside, the fabric hanging limply in his hands. Sol heard Frey exhale then flinched when the other reached out a hand toward him. He instinctively shut his eyes, unsure of what Frey was going to do, when he felt the cloak being taken from him and wrapped around his shoulders. Not only did Frey secure the clasp tightly around Sol’s thin neck, but he also removed his own cloak and layered it on top of Sol’s, once again fastening it and then pulling both hoods up over his head.

“Let’s go back,” Frey said, tone leaving no room for discussion, immediately beginning to walk in the direction of the inn without waiting to see whether or not Sol was following. His heart twisted in a complex knot, feeling an unfamiliar sting when he thought of the youth’s troubled direction. Prostitution was by no means unheard of, being a woefully common recreation for rich Tierian nobles, but something about Sol’s tragic circumstances pushing him toward such a path didn’t sit well with the general.

Sol was unable to move at first, shocked at the surprising amount of tenderness he had been shown by a complete stranger, before running to catch up. He walked wordlessly behind Frey in an awkward silence, the warmth of the heavy outer cloak bringing heat to his cold body. Sol watched as Frey’s loose hair swung from side to side across his broad back with each step, falling just past his shoulder blades. The inky strands mirrored the jet black sky, but the curtain of darkness felt incomplete without the scattered milky way woven in between.

Frey walked at a breakneck pace, causing Sol to struggle to keep up even with his long legs. However, that meant they returned to the inn that much faster. The two quietly entered and made their way up the stairs, careful not to make any loud disturbances. Sol was about to open his mouth to whisper his thanks to Frey for lending him his cloak, but Frey had immediately parted from Sol on the third floor and slipped into his room like a shadow.

He stood in the dark for several moments, dumbfounded at Frey’s incomprehensible behavior. Sol eventually recovered and scoffed, annoyed at himself for being moved by such a cheap act of kindness. Once in the privacy of his room on the fourth floor, he changed into his sleeping clothes and washed up, exhausted from the unpredicted turn of events the night had taken. He sat in his bed and looked at the dark blue fabric he had carelessly tossed at the end, guiltily looking at the expensive fabric that was half puddling on the floor. With a sigh he crawled to the foot of the bed and gathered it up, carefully hanging it on one of the hooks on his bedpost. He decided he would express his gratitude and return the cloak to the meddlesome stranger the next day and then never talk to him again, before climbing under the sheets and falling asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Sol bit his lip, perched on the end of the bartop, watching the quiet dining room. The few guests of the inn along with customers stopping by just for a meal were spread out over the various tables, eating lunch. Half the day had come and gone but the stranger from the other day still hadn’t shown his face. Sol had confirmed that the man was still renting the room but refused to believe he had slipped out into town before he himself had gotten up to begin his chores. A sharp slap on his back surprised Sol out of his thoughts, causing him to slide off the counter.

“How many times have I told you not to sit on the bar,” the old woman sighed, shaking her head but smiling at Sol with endearment. She had just come out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. The elderly woman had dark grey hair pulled back into a no-nonsense bun and a stern face that radiated tough love, but love nonetheless.

“Let the boy be, Mila, he’s not doin’ any harm,” Jude said with a chuckle, marking down some notes in the inn’s ledger.

“And you!” Mila shook her finger at her husband threateningly. “Couldn’t remember to put the lid back on the stew after you had a midnight snack, hm?”

“I was reheating it for a guest!” the old man cried in exasperation. “Sol can confirm, right?”

Sol merely nodded from where he stood, not wanting to get in the middle of their squabble.

“See? I didn’t want to wake my darling wife who was sleeping like a baby, so this clumsy me did it himself. I’m sorry love, I won’t forget again,” Jude coaxed, hoping to placate Mila’s temper by putting an arm around her shoulder and kissing her cheek.

Mila made a few noncommittal grunts before shaking Jude off and storming back into the kitchen.

“And  _ that’s  _ the key to a long and happy marriage, Sol,” Jude said with a laugh and a wink, nudging Sol with his elbow. “Flatter her, insult yourself, but most importantly, apologize.”

A small smile blossomed on Sol’s face; his adoptive grandfather’s antics never failed to warm his heart, but the emotion of familial love always seemed to resolve into a bitter taste in his mouth when all was said and done.

“By the way, have you seen the guest from last night at all today, Gramps?” Sol asked nonchalantly.

Jude thought for a bit, scratching at the short whiskers growing on his chin.

“Can’t say that I have, and I’ve been down here all morning,” he answered.

Sol muttered a quick thanks before running upstairs.  _ He did eat quite late, so it’s not abnormal he wouldn’t come down for lunch, but what could he possibly be doing in his room all day? _ He quietly paced outside Frey’s door, debating what to do. At one point he even knelt by the door and carefully placed his ear against the wood, straining to listen for any sounds of movement. As far as he could tell, there was only silence from the inside of the room.  _ What if he left before any of us woke up, looking to skip out on the bill? _ Sol gasped in fury at the thought, instantly aggressive toward anyone who would do his found family harm. He knew exactly where all the spare keys were kept and quickly fetched the correct duplicate.

Before thinking twice, Sol turned the key and gently pushed the door open, careful to not make any noise as he slipped inside, shutting it behind him. He looked around furtively, noting that although the stranger didn’t have many possessions with him, his belongings were still in the room. A drawstring sack of clothes and other small trinkets sat on a table with the deadly looking longsword laid beside, snug in its sheath.

After confirming no one was hiding in any other corner of the room, Sol silently approached the bed to find the man soundly asleep under the blankets. His face was serene and still, pale skin unblemished and smooth like a radiant pearl. The man’s pink lips parted slightly as he breathed, the only indication that he was alive.  _ Why is he still sleeping this late into the day? _ Sol thought, before jumping to his next conclusion. He started to panic, fearing that the man had come down with an illness from walking back without his cloak and thus was sleeping it off. His heart thudded in his chest as he slowly reached out a hand to touch the man’s forehead, wanting to gauge whether or not he had a fever.

Just before his fingertips made contact with skin, Sol’s world turned upside down, spinning in a flurry of black and white. Frey grabbed Sol’s wrist and pulled, flipping the youth over himself and onto the other side of the bed. He rolled up onto his knees, pinning Sol down on either side while holding up a sharp knife in a threatening position, ready to stab at a moment’s notice. Sol looked up in shock and fear, a waterfall of black hair tickling one side of his face while the white fabric of Frey’s sleeve trailed along the other. Frey’s azure eyes were wild and unfocused until he recognized Sol and relaxed, the tension slowly receding from his body.

“You?” Frey muttered in confusion. “Why are you bothering me so early?” Stifling a yawn, he leaned back and removed his weight from on top of Sol. Frey straightened the robe he was wearing and slid the knife back under his pillow. He was still tired and fully intended on going back to sleep.

“ _ Early _ ?” Sol managed to say after recovering from almost meeting a swift and horrifying end, his voice full of incredulousness but also strained and a little squeaky. “It’s already late in the afternoon, just how long are you planning to sleep?”

Frey waved a hand dismissively, pinching his nose bridge with the other.

“At least until supper time. Be useful and wake me up then, alright?” He had already begun laying back down and closing his eyes, body language clearly dismissing Sol’s presence.

Sol scrambled to his feet and huffed indignantly, prickling at Frey’s condescending attitude.

“Fuck off, I’m not your personal alarm!” he said angrily while storming out of the room.  _ I can’t believe I was ever worried about that conceited bastard. Forget about thanking him for anything, he can go to hell! _ Sol returned to the inn’s main hall in a sour mood, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He unconsciously registered Jude’s instructions to fetch some ingredients from the marketplace and all too eagerly left to do so, grateful for a distraction.

***

Frey woke to a vicious but quick slamming on his door. The room was completely dark and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust. Eventually he sat up and ran a hand through his hair, stretching his muscles and rolling out his neck. After lighting a couple lanterns, he languidly washed and dressed, feeling rather refreshed after sleeping for so long. The lack of conversation and movement from downstairs indicated it was toward the end of dinner time, which was perfect as he was quite hungry but didn’t want to deal with a crowd. Frey descended the stairs of the inn to see a couple tables occupied with people finishing their supper.

“Oh, good evening, sir,” a female voice called from behind the bar. “According to my husband, you must be the sleeping beauty staying in the dahlia suite. I suspect you’ll be wanting some dinner?”

“Yes, please, and a pitcher of mulled wine,” Frey said dryly, taking a seat at the bar and making no comment regarding Jude’s allegation. He was wearing a plain long sleeve shirt and casual trousers as opposed to his usual military suit; combined with the fact that he left his hair down, Frey looked considerably younger than usual. He didn’t intend to come off as an overly stuffy or serious individual, but unfortunately his upbringing and the pressure to not only perform admirably, but to excel farther than any of his peers, forced him to develop such a straightforward and humorless persona. It was only when Frey was alone and on such liminal trips as that one - pathetically the closest thing he could consider as a break or vacation - that he could relax in his anonymity. Even around Tristan, whom he was most comfortable with, Frey found it hard to separate from his overbearing and perfectionist role model image.

Mila returned with a platter of food and the requested wine, setting it down in front of him. Frey made short work of his dinner, leaving barely a crumb behind, and was halfway through the wine by the time the dining hall had cleared out. Compared to her husband, Mila was blessedly mute, going about her work in diligent silence. Frey was just beginning to wonder where the inn’s other two permanent residents were when the front door burst open, letting in a gust of icy wind and a torrent of snowflakes that quickly melted into the wooden floor.

“Whew, snow’s really starting to come down,” Jude said, dusting the white powder off his head and the packages in his arm.

Sol trailed in behind him, mirroring the older man’s actions. Frey nearly spat out a mouthful of wine when he looked at the youth.  _ Is that my cloak? _ he thought, perplexed. Frey remembered wrapping it around Sol the other night when they walked back from the red-light district, but never imagined he would so boldly adopt it into his own wardrobe.

“Ah, good to see you up and about. Are you sure you’re human and not some freaky nocturnal creature with an aversion to sunlight?” the old man joked, depositing his packages on the counter and giving Frey a friendly clap on the back.

Sol froze when he saw Frey sitting at the bar, blanching as they made eye contact. Frey wore a knowing smirk on his face that instantly made Sol’s blood boil with ire.

“I assure you I am quite capable of maintaining normal waking hours under different circumstances,” he mused. “But it was very considerate of your grandson to wake me in time for dinner.”

Glaring wordlessly at Frey, Sol stomped over to the bar and all but slammed the goods he had been carrying down on the polished bartop. Pointedly continuing to ignore the other’s cocky presence, Sol turned to his guardians and spoke curtly.

“I’m retiring for the evening, good night.” He willed every cell in his face to not burn up in embarrassment of being seen by the owner of the cloak he had shamelessly commandeered, setting his expression as rigidly and neutrally as possible. Sol marched upstairs without another word.

“Honestly, that child must be going through some kind of rebellious phase,” Mila harped. “Jude, I just don’t know what’s gotten into him as of late.”

“Boys his age are trouble, y’know? Paired with his situation, that’s just double trouble.” Jude shook his head apologetically at Frey.

Finally able to talk to both of them alone, Frey’s expression turned serious as he addressed the elderly couple.

“I know this is quite sudden and most likely difficult to believe, but my name is Frey Blackwood, General of the Tierian army and Councilman to His Majesty the King,” he said as he removed a golden medal bearing the royal crest from his pocket, presenting it before the surprised pair. While on official duty, Frey would pin it on his uniform to represent the crown. “While I am not completely certain, I believe I know someone who can confirm Sol’s true identity. I ask your permission to take him with me to the capital to pursue this matter.”

Jude and Mila looked at him in stunned silence, trying to process the shocking information. It was quite a while before Jude spoke.

“I knew you looked familiar!” he exclaimed. “Never thought I’d see the day when the legendary Blue-Eyed Angel of Death would stay at my humble inn!” The old man’s eyes were wide in excitement, adoration in his voice. Jude had served in the Tierian army many years ago, remembering the friends he had made there fondly, although very few of them were still alive. After he left active duty to settle down, he developed a hobby for following the careers of young upstarts - Frey happened to be one of his favorites to hear about.

Not at all the response Frey was expecting, his eyebrow twitched minutely at hearing his old moniker for the first time in years, especially to his face. Frey had made a name for himself over a decade ago when he first started training in the military for being so young and ruthless, the only one his age to gain actual battle experience and live to tell the tale. The senior soldiers would spread stories of how he emotionlessly struck down any and all in his path, as if he were merely trimming foliage instead of cutting into living human beings. To his relief, his public nickname eventually switched between the Twin Reaper, when he had fully developed his aura ability in his early twenties, and the Genius General, once he had climbed the ranks and was promoted.

Mila elbowed her husband, shushing him with teary eyes.

“Are old war stories the only thing you can think about at a time like this?” she chided.

Jude looked at Frey sheepishly, coughing out an apology.

“I always knew a day like this would come,” Mila continued, voice full of emotion. “But this is something Sol will have to agree to himself. If he doesn’t want to go, that is his decision.”

Jude nodded emphatically, agreeing with his wife.

“Of course you’ll have to wait out the storm before you can get goin’ on your way, so I suppose you have until then to ask him,” he added.

“Certainly,” Frey inclined his head to them both. “We all have a vested interest in Sol’s wellbeing and you have my word that I will protect him with my life. Regardless of the outcome, when all is said and done, if Sol wishes to return to Mistfall I shall personally escort him back.”

Mila nodded and sniffed sadly, causing Jude to wrap his arm around her shoulders. It was impossible to trust a stranger with their most precious treasure, but Frey’s reputation preceded him as a capable and accomplished servant of the crown. She longed to see the day when Sol could truly laugh from the bottom of his heart, hoping she and Jude would be around to see it, but loved Sol enough to let him go. Mila selfishly thought it would be best if Sol decided he didn’t want to leave at all but would never make that choice for him; and even though he was not truly their real grandson, as the saying went, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. No matter what path Sol chose to walk down, he would always have a home with them in Mistfall.

After returning to his room, Frey sat at the table twirling an ink pen between his fingers while contemplating how to broach the subject with Sol. He was like a rogue spark, only needing a little tinder to grow into a massive flame that would engulf everything in its path. Frey simply couldn’t get a good read on him, especially now that Sol was decidedly ignoring him. Would he want to go? Perhaps even if Sol desired to reclaim his past, he wouldn’t be thrilled at the idea of traveling to Lorelai alongside Frey. With a sigh, he shook his head and began to pen a letter to Tristan on the blank sheet of paper in front of him.  _ I must take him to Kyro _ , he thought with finality.

***

Later that night, Sol once again wrapped himself in Frey’s cloak, having grown fond of the luxurious fabric. He silently crept out into the dark hallway and descended the staircase, pausing on the third landing to glance nervously at Frey’s door. The inn was quiet and still aside from the low vibrations of a particularly loud guest’s snores. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief as he crossed the ground floor, making a beeline for the door.

“Going somewhere?”

Sol halted midstep, his face quickly forming a grimace. Frey was sitting at one of the tables, his black hair and suit blending in with the shadows.

“Fucking creeper,” Sol muttered under his breath, turning to face Frey. “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to do anything,” he said haughtily, golden eyes reflecting the moonlight like a panther lurking in the dark.

“I’m sorry, am I getting in the way of your...work?” Frey stood up and took a few steps toward Sol, looking down at him with a wicked grin. “Run along then, I’ll be sure to ask all about how your night went at breakfast tomorrow in front of Jude and Mila.”

Sol scowled, wanting very much to punch the smirk off of Frey’s face.

“What do you want? I have an important customer tonight who hates waiting.”

One of Frey’s eyebrows raised by a hair.

“Oh? Well in that case, whatever they’re paying, I’ll pay double.”

Sol snorted, nearly falling over in laughter.  _ So that’s his game _ , he thought scornfully.

“Sorry, I don’t shit where I eat.” He tossed his head indignantly, looking Frey straight in the eyes.

“Then let’s have a change of scenery,” Frey said perfunctorily. He swept past Sol in a few strides and stepped through the door, feeling winter’s icy embrace all around him. The city was covered under a thick blanket of snow that continued to fall in gratuitous puffs from the sky. The wind, however, was calm, the lack of its presence contributing to the muffled quiet of the night.

Sol chased after Frey, grabbing the sleeve of his uniform jacket without thinking.

“You’re not dressed to be walking around outside!” he exclaimed, breath frosting in the air.

Frey merely let out a low chuckle and kept walking, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“I seemed to have misplaced my cloak so I guess I’ll have to do without it,” he said. “Wherever it is, I hope it’s being put to good use.”

Sol’s cheeks burned with heat but he refused to comment, balling his hands into fists. As much as he wanted to leave the man to his own devices, his conscience forced him to begrudgingly stay by Frey’s side.

Frey seemed to know where he was going, leading them through the city’s winding streets. To Sol’s surprise, they did not end up in the red-light district, but in front of Mistfall’s largest messenger tower. He followed Frey into the tall, stone building, where a sleepy attendant sat drooped over a desk. Frey rapped his knuckles on the surface by the man’s ears, causing him to jerk awake.

“Y-yes, how may I be of assistance!” he yelped, eyes darting around rapidly, finally settling on Frey’s imposing figure.

“I require your fastest hawk. Destination, Lorelai castle,” Frey commanded.

The man’s bleary eyes widened in shock as he recognized the golden emblem pinned on Frey’s chest.

“Right away, sir!” he said sharply, immediately standing up straighter. “Please, follow me!”

The three of them climbed a seemingly endless amount of stairs, having circled the perimeter of the tower several times. The aide finally led them to an open floor, full of segmented shelves and perches where various birds nested. A frigid breeze rolled in from the large open-aired balcony, scattering snow and feathers every which way. The man wandered off for a moment before returning with a large and ferocious looking hawk, carefully transferring the bird to Frey’s crooked arm. After ascertaining that his assistance was no longer needed, he bowed curtly to Frey and left them alone.

“Open the canister,” Frey instructed Sol, motioning to the tube attached to one of the hawk’s legs. Sol did as he was told, praying that the bird didn’t decide to peck a hole in his hand in the process. Once it was open, Frey took out a rolled letter from within his jacket and slid it inside. After Sol refastened the lid, they made their way over to the edge of the exposed balcony, snow starting to land in their hair.

The wind swirled Frey’s loose hair around him like black silk, mingling with snowflakes that glowed like glittering stars. His sharp eyes were focused on the hawk, as if communicating with the creature to give it a pre-flight pep talk, or more likely, threatening to cook it if it didn’t reach its destination. Sol couldn’t help but stare at his strong profile, taken by the powerful sight. Frey suddenly thrust his arm out, sending the hawk on its way, following its figure as it disappeared into the night sky. He turned to find Sol watching him, wondering what new transgression he had done to earn the other’s glare.

Realizing that he was staring, Sol quickly looked away, focusing instead on the gold that glinted on Frey’s lapel. He hadn’t gotten a clear glimpse of it until then, with Frey bathed in moonlight. Sol’s breathing hitched - he wasn’t stupid, he immediately recognized the Tierian royal crest from one of the many books he had read after awakening with no memories or knowledge of the new land he lived in. His mouth gaped, opening and closing like a fish out of water, struggling to find the right words to say.

“I...I’ve seen you before. Well, a picture of you in one of my Gramps’s military record books, that is. Actually, you were in a lot of them.” He thought for a moment before correcting himself, “Most, if not all. You’re the Bl-”

“Stop,” Frey said tersely, holding up one hand in front of him and pinching his nose with the other, feeling like he was about to age ten years. “Just call me Frey.” He sighed in exasperation, walking back under the cover of the building and starting to head down the stairs. “At least this saves the trouble of a formal introduction, but your grandfather really needs to find a less frivolous hobby,” Frey muttered under his breath.

Sol trailed after Frey, brain working overtime to process the revelation.

“What was in the letter you sent? Who did you send it to? Was it to the King?” His questions pelted Frey with tenacity equal to the relentlessly falling snow as they walked along the deserted streets.

“Are you always this annoying?”

“Depends, are you always such an arrogant prick?”

Frey stopped in his tracks and turned to Sol, his brows knit in frustration. Sol looked at him innocently, a beatific smile on his face.

“Ok, clearly we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over, like mature adults. I’m Frey, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He spoke through his teeth as politely as he could manage and held out his hand between them like an olive branch.

“Hm, wish I could say the same,” Sol shrugged, grinning cheekily. He started to walk again, albeit with his back facing forward. “So what did you write about?” he repeated.

Frey rolled his eyes but began walking as well, quickly catching up with Sol’s backward steps.  _ There is no way this irritating punk  _ isn’t  _ related to Kyro _ , he thought.

“Surprisingly enough, you,” Frey said.

Sol’s heel caught on a raised cobblestone hidden under the snow, causing him to lose his balance and slip backward. Frey dashed forward and caught him, wrapping his arms around Sol’s waist. He held him close, allowing Sol to lean against him to ensure that he was once again on stable footing. Despite the cold air and not wearing an outer layer, Frey’s chest was incredibly warm. Sol could sense his cheeks flushing and pushed away, flustered. His mind was racing, but in all different directions.

“Wh-what do you mean, me?” he asked, trying to calm his pounding heart. Without looking, Sol felt the weight of Frey’s gaze, deliberately not meeting the other’s piercing eyes.

“Sol,” Frey began in a serious tone. “Come with me to Lorelai. There is someone there who can confirm your identity.”

When he heard Frey’s words, his head snapped up from where he was looking at the ground. He could see no trace of hesitation or deception in Frey’s eyes. Sol’s mouth went dry, as if it were full of cotton.

“Who?” he asked cautiously, willing himself to remain calm. “It’s obvious that I’m not...from Tieria. Why would someone related to me be in the capital?”

Frey ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a cloud of mist.

“It’s a long and quite frankly difficult story to tell, but the King of Rien, a small nation deep in the western mountains, is currently visiting Lorelai. I have many reasons to believe he is your older brother.”

“Rien? I’ve never heard of it,” he said after a while. Sol shook his head and scoffed, “Me, a prince? Don’t make me laugh.” He gripped his wrist tightly with one hand, nails digging into his skin. “Why should I believe you?”

“Why...shouldn’t you?” Frey asked, puzzled. “Don’t you want to be reunited with your family and find out who you are?”

Sol looked away and began to walk again, distractedly tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“How can you be so sure I’m related to him? You barely even know me. And if I forgot him and the rest of my family in the first place, they must not have been all that great to begin with,” he mumbled. Sol tried to swallow the lump that had developed in his throat; he knew he was being needlessly difficult and pessimistic, but his indifference was really just hiding his true feelings. The likelihood that Frey - a complete stranger happening to pass through and stay at their inn by chance - actually knowing someone from his past was so statistically improbable that the trip would probably just be a gigantic waste of time. More so than not wanting to get caught up in false hope, although he would never admit it, in actuality Sol was frightened. He couldn’t explain it properly, but he was scared of what he might discover by learning about himself.

“I...have my theories but understand your apprehension and doubt. What would it take to persuade you?” Frey quickly caught up and walked beside him, earnestly desiring for Sol to not only  _ want  _ to face the truth, but run toward it with confidence.

“I don’t know,” he replied, becoming agitated and throwing his hands in the air. “I guess, if you can provide me some kind of undeniable proof to your claims, I’ll consider it.”

Frey frowned but nodded in agreement. He wasn’t sure how to go about convincing Sol without dragging Kyro to Mistfall, but he was determined to come up with something. They returned to the inn in silence, both having a lot weighing on their minds, and were thankful to once again be sheltered from the chill of winter. Sol was still unnerved at how Frey tolerated the cold, not sure how he would take it if the man eventually did fall ill due to his stubbornness. He paused on the stairs right before the third landing, turning around to face Frey who was coming up behind him.

“H-here,” he said, removing the cloak from his shoulders and holding it out. “You should have this back. S-sorry for not returning it sooner.” Sol focused on the wall beside Frey’s head, unable to meet his eyes directly.

Frey looked at Sol in surprise then laughed lightly, reaching out a hand to tousle Sol’s hair. Although hidden by the darkness, Sol flushed a bright crimson. He scowled in response, swatting away Frey’s hand which only caused him to laugh harder. Frey was suddenly reminded of a young Tristan, how he would react in the same grumpy manner when he thought he wasn’t being taken seriously. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done so but it had probably been many years.

“Don’t look down on me,” Sol grumbled.

“I apologize,” Frey chuckled. “But in regards to the cloak, keep it. It suits you.” He stepped past a speechless Sol with a smirk on his face, heading toward his suite.

“W-wait!” Sol whispered frantically before Frey retreated into the room. “I have one more condition.”

Frey turned to look at him, halfway through the door.

“Yes?”

“I require payment for every day I’m unable to work. I’ll let tonight go but I’m warning you, I’m not cheap.” Sol glared at Frey with such an air of superiority the general struggled to hold back a new wave of laughter. It was only due to his years of constructing a distant and detached persona that he was able to keep a straight face.

“As you wish,” he said, wondering why Sol was so fixated on earning money. “But on the flip side, you are not allowed to take any customers until the matter has been resolved, starting tomorrow. Goodnight, Sol.”

  
Frey ended the conversation and disappeared beyond the door, leaving Sol wordless in the stairway.  _ Who the fuck does he think he is! _ Although the answer to his own rhetorical question was in and of itself rather unbelievable, he silently fumed for a few minutes before retiring to his own room. Sol bit his lip and paced nervously for some time before climbing into bed - for if he knew Rook, there was bound to be retaliation. He groaned in frustration, cursing Frey right up until the moment he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Frey spent the majority of the next day walking the streets of Mistfall. The snow was still falling from the sky and the temperature had dropped a few degrees, so his first order of business was to buy a new cloak. Although his body was exceptionally trained and he could withstand more dire conditions compared to the average individual, it was still damn cold. He debated between a few decent options before deciding on a plain and heavy but high quality riding cloak with a large hood in a fashionable - or so he thought - charcoal color. Satisfied with his purchase, Frey stopped by the city stables to check on his horse. Bella was fed and well rested, anxious to be back on the road. Frey fed her a few snacks, stroking her velvety nose gently and promising they would soon be on their way home.

He walked aimlessly through the afternoon, contemplating the many thoughts that swirled in his head. He honestly wondered what exactly he was hoping to accomplish, or why he felt so driven to reunite the two brothers, if they even were. The other side to his moral musings was what benefit would come out of his meddling. Surely Kyro would be overcome with emotion to have his brother return from the dead, but what of Sol? Frey realized once he found out the truth from the King of Rien, or even from his own recovered memories, he would be faced with the knowledge that his entire family outside of Kyro had been brutally murdered.

On the surface it seemed that Sol was living happily in Mistfall, unburdened by the truth. But was it right to stay that way, living a life based on ignorance? Was it even his place to judge Sol’s decision in the end? To top it all off, who was Frey even going to such lengths for - Kyro? He had no love for the obnoxious and immature king, barely tolerating the man’s existence, although Frey was sure Tristan would be eternally grateful in Kyro’s stead. Sol? The youth wasn’t even aware of what was on the line by pursuing his past.

Unable to come up with any answers to his pressing questions, Frey pushed his worries to the back of his mind for the moment. Unfortunately his more immediate problem also had potentially disastrous consequences - it would be terrible to bring Sol to Lorelai, getting his hopes up only to have them shattered if Frey was wrong. But he was fairly confident in his deduction and the ‘proof’ he prepared for Sol would be telling in its own right. Although not decisive evidence of his identity, Frey hoped at the very least it would increase the base credibility of his claims to the point where Sol would be willing to take the chance.

The weak sunlight that filtered through the dense gray clouds had all but dissipated when Frey finally returned to Eden, approaching the inn from down the street when he spotted a small commotion right outside the doors.

“I told you to fuck off, I’m done with Rook. He can find himself a new whore, it’s not like he doesn’t own half the brothels in Mistfall,” Sol seethed quietly.

His arm was being gripped by a muscular and cruel looking man - a low ranking thug if Frey had ever seen one.

“Is there a problem?” he said cooly, glaring down at Sol’s assailant.

The thug grunted and shoved Sol forcefully before releasing his hold.

“You know this isn’t gonna end well, kid,” he sneered. “Don’t say I didn’t tell ya when Rook ultimately gets his way.”

The man stalked off, leaving Sol behind to curse at his back irritably.

“Fucking shitty bastard,” he spat. Although the man was out of earshot, Sol couldn’t help but yell in anger, “Tell Rook I hope his dick falls off and that he can shove it up his a-”

Frey clamped his hand over Sol’s mouth and dragged the raging youth into the empty alley beside the inn.

“What is  _ wrong  _ with you?” he demanded, embarrassed by association from Sol’s very public outburst.

“This is partially your fault, you know!” Sol huffed. “The person I blew off meeting with from the other night? His name is Cristoff Rook. To the public he’s known as an incredibly wealthy businessman, but his fortune is built on running basically half of the red-light district. I told his lackeys I wasn’t on the market anymore, per  _ your  _ request, and it seems he threw a fit over losing me.” He flipped his hair proudly, disturbingly conceited over his worth as a prostitute. “No less than three of his thugs have been by today, forcing me to come outside and humor their poor intimidation skills lest they bother any customers.”

Sol crossed his arms and bit his lip in annoyance, wishing that Cristoff would at least show up in person so he could end the discussion with his fists.

“By the way, what’s that?” he pointed to the long and thin wrapped bundle Frey carried in the crook of his arm.

“Proof,” Frey answered. “We’ll meet out here tonight at midnight. But in any event, regarding this Rook character, don’t go into the city alone. If you have to for any reason, I will accompany you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Sol said, waving his hand in the air.

The two returned to the inn, Frey heading upstairs to rest and freshen up while Sol went to the kitchen to help Mila with dinner.

***

When the moon was well into its journey across the sky, Sol put on his cloak - that was now officially his - and crept outside into the adjacent alleyway. Frey was already waiting for him there, leaning against the exterior of the inn. Sol noted that Frey was not wearing the new cloak he had seen him sporting earlier that day, wondering if he really just enjoyed being cold.

“Take off your cloak,” Frey commanded.

“What? It’s freezing. I’m sorry I don’t share your enthusiasm for becoming an icicle,” Sol complained.

“Don’t be pathetic, it won’t even be for that long...probably.”

Sol glared at Frey but finally complied, unclasping the cloak and tossing it to the side.  _ I’d rather be pathetic than miserable _ , the thought bitterly.

“Done, happy?” he said hugging himself and shivering. “Now what?”

Frey picked up the wrapped bundle from where it was propped against the wall, holding it out in front of him. He slowly undid the bindings, revealing a curved scabbard from which he drew a gleaming sword that reflected the moonlight into Sol’s eyes.

“Do you know what this is?” Frey asked.

Sol shrugged and answered noncommittally.

“A sword?”

“Catch.”

The word had barely left Frey’s mouth when he tossed the saber at Sol in a graceful arc. Sol flinched but surprisingly caught it by the handle, feeling the weight of the metal in his hand.

“That, although most likely not to the correct standard, is a saber. It is the weapon of choice in Rien. Kyro, your hypothetical brother, is extremely proficient with them. In fact, he personally trained His Majesty, King Tristan, in the art of saber fighting several years ago. I recall hearing that in Rien, most children are trained as warriors from a young age.”

“Cool...I guess?” Sol held it up in the light, inspecting the curved blade and his reflection in it. “But I don’t see how this sword proves anythi-”

He was cut off mid-word when Frey drew the longsword at his waist and ran toward Sol. Frey swung his sword out in a slow but decisive slice, causing Sol to scramble backward to avoid being cut in half.

“What the fuck!’ he yelled, heart hammering in his chest.

Frey took another step toward Sol and struck again, but this time he barely managed to raise the saber to block it. The clash of metal on metal rang in their ears, but the sound didn’t travel far due to the muffling effect of all the snow. Frey’s eyes glowed with an intensity that sent a burst of primal fear shooting through Sol. The general’s face was unnervingly placid, completely devoid of emotion yet still strikingly beautiful. Sol thought that if he were to be killed, dying at the hands of the Blue-Eyed Angel of Death wasn’t the worst way to go.

Another blow, this time coming from the opposite direction. Sol grit his teeth and used the saber to parry each of Frey’s attacks, which were actually quite slow and obvious. Eventually, his right arm grew tired so he passed the saber into his left hand, worried that he would actually be hurt at some point. Frey pressed on, working Sol into a corner at the end of the alley.

Cold, exhausted, and quite seriously fearing for his life, Sol was at his wit’s end. It didn’t seem like Frey would let up anytime soon, so he wondered if he should try a desperate attack to break through and escape. Gathering his remaining nerves, he caught the next strike with the saber and pushed forward with all his might. Frey took a step backward and they disengaged, but Sol moved immediately to the offensive. He began to drive the saber through the air, a bit shakily at first but soon progressing into smooth, fluid motions. Left, right, high, low - Sol picked up speed as the saber felt more and more comfortable in his hand. Frey only ever parried, blocking each of Sol’s attacks, but began to be forced backward.

Sol’s mind began to drift, not actively processing things step by step anymore, and his movements quickly grew bolder and more complex, chaining lunges into feints and deftly redirecting the flow of his blade to counterattack unpredictably. Frey once again began to attack as well as defend and soon they were exchanging blows in earnest. Sol wasn’t sure how long he could keep going for, swiftly dodging and ducking while lashing out with attacks of his own, when he saw the perfect opening in Frey’s defenses, like seeing a hole in dense storm clouds where a single ray of sunlight pierced through. Before his brain actually formed the thought, Sol feinted a swing to the right before spinning it backward, driving it against Frey’s sword. He slid the saber down along the length of the longsword until the angle of the curve was just right, and with a twisting motion wrenched the sword from Frey’s grasp.

Neither of them moved for several moments, Sol breathing hard, feeling sweat drip down his back and not quite understanding what had just happened, while Frey looked like he hadn’t exerted himself at all. Although Sol was the victor, he dropped the saber and fell to his knees, shaking slightly.

“F-Frey,” he stuttered, looking up at the blue eyes that seemed to be blazing even brighter than before. Sol’s mind was hazy, slowly trying to comprehend one thing at a time. “I-I...I don’t know how to use a sword or fight or-or..."

“You do,” Frey said quietly, picking up his longsword and sheathing it. “Your body remembers, even if you do not.” He knelt in front of Sol, trying to calm him down by gently stroking his head.

Sol looked around erratically, struggling to come to terms with Frey’s words. He didn’t want to admit it, but the saber felt comfortable,  _ natural _ , in his hand. During the fight, he had eventually stopped thinking and simply let his body control his movements, trusting his instincts to take over. He couldn’t explain any of the things he had done, but that didn’t deny the fact that he had indeed done them.

“You...you knew that I would be able to fight back?”

“I had my suspicions,” Frey said.

Sol shuddered, infinitely glad that Frey was right; otherwise, he would probably be bleeding out on the snow. Frey grabbed the discarded cloak and wrapped it tightly around him, thinking he was shivering from the cold. In a daze, Sol reached for the saber he had tossed aside and brought it into his hands. He gripped it tightly, searching through his mind and feeling like he was standing before an enormous void that threatened to consume anything in its path. As he stood before the mass of darkness, his heart felt like it was gripped by an icy hand, radiating terror. In the depths of his subconscious, alarm bells were ringing like mad, warning him to avoid going down a path he would regret - almost as if there would only be an eternity of pain if he were swallowed by the black hole within him. The danger of facing that unknown horror filled his mind, causing him to break out into a cold sweat.

“I...I don’t...” His words trailed off into unintelligible mumbling, anxiety welling up inside him. Sol felt like he was being enclosed in an invisible box even though there was nothing but open air around them. His heart thundered and he began to have trouble breathing, as if a heavy weight was bound to his chest.

“Sol!” Frey shouted, grabbing his shoulders tightly, concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Sol’s eyes were unfocused and dim, debilitating pain pounding in his skull. He threw the saber aside and clutched his head with both hands, hot tears streaking down his face.

“Ngh...my head feels like it’s going to split open,” he cried.

_ Are his memories coming back? _ Frey thought in panic. He couldn’t imagine what horrible things Sol had experienced the night Rien fell, instantly regretting pushing him so far. He held Sol firmly in his arms, trying to calm him down.

“It’s ok,” Frey soothed. “Whatever you’re feeling, just let it go. Your past can’t hurt you anymore.”

Sol tore away from Frey, standing up and sprinting back into the inn. He couldn’t shake the feeling that haunting shadows were clinging onto him, digging into his skin and trying to drag him down. Sol could hear Frey calling his name but didn’t stop running until he was all the way back in his room, locking the door behind him and collapsing on the ground. He felt his consciousness slowly slipping away, the rhythmic thudding of Frey’s fist banging on the door the last sounds he heard before passing out.

“Gen’ral? Whas’ goin’ on?”

The door across the hall opened and a sleepy Jude poked his head out, investigating the noise.

“I deeply apologize for the commotion, but I believe Sol is unwell. Can you unlock his room?” Frey spoke quickly but quietly, not wanting to wake the entire inn.

Jude’s eyes widened in shock and he rushed into the next room, their home office, to fetch the spare key. By the time he had unlocked Sol’s room, Mila had appeared in the doorway, a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her face blanched when she saw Sol lying on the ground in a crumpled heap, a horrified cry escaping her lips.

“Sol!’ she sobbed, kneeling beside him and holding his face. His skin was clammy to the touch, a slick layer of sweat all over him. “What happened?”

“I think he was about to recall some of his memories and went into shock,” Frey said.

“I’m sure he would have been fine if you hadn’t agitated him,” Mila said heatedly while Jude carefully moved Sol to his bed.

Frey’s lips pressed into a thin line. She was right, he could not deny that his experiment was most likely the instigator for Sol’s condition. What was going to hurt Sol more? Learning the truth or living the rest of his life as only a fraction of his former self?

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say in response. Frey left the couple alone to watch over Sol, returning to his room with a conflicted feeling in his heart.

***

Sol woke up abruptly, feeling like his organs were fighting to escape from his body. He struggled out of bed and staggered over to the bathroom before throwing up in the sink until he could barely stand, the exertion from heaving leaving him trembling. His legs eventually gave out and he fell to the hard floor, leaning back against the wall.

Frey suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking down at him with worry. He had been in the middle of finishing some reports, watching over his condition, when the other had violently woken up and ran to the bathroom.

“How are you feeling?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Like shit,” Sol mumbled. He held his head in his hands, waiting for his vision to stop spinning. When the nausea finally eased, he shakily stood up and pushed passed Frey to sit back down on his bed. Judging from the light coming through the windows, Sol guessed it was sometime in the afternoon.

“Are you hungry? I’ll bring some food up for you,” Frey said hurriedly, turning to open the door.

Before he could leave, Sol called out to him.

“Wait.”

Frey stopped, forcing himself to look at Sol. His heart sank seeing the normally brash and lively youth’s face haggard and drawn.

“You know, don’t you?” Sol said quietly. “Not just who I might be related to, but what really happened to me...to end up like this.”

Frey stood silently, face betraying no emotions. Watching Sol struggle with whatever shadows were chained deep within him, Frey had come to the conclusion that he had made a terrible mistake - one that would soon become irreparable. What was he thinking? His selfish lapse in judgement had threatened the small peace Sol had found in his new life. He should never have opened his mouth in the first place. Frey had always been terrible with human interaction and matters of the heart but for some reason he had just felt so compelled to reach out to him.

“Mere theories with no concrete evidence outside of circumstantial anecdotes,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t put too much faith in it. And frankly speaking, I don’t think you should go to Lorelai after all. I’m probably wrong and it would be a complete waste of time-”

“Tell me.” Sol cut Frey off harshly.

“...I don’t think it would be good for you-”

“You don’t get to decide what is or isn’t good for me after coming here and starting shit!” Sol shouted suddenly, clenching the bedsheets in his fists. His face was strained in a pained expression then smoothed out as he exhaled, trying to regain control. “So you’re going to sit down and tell me what you know or I’ll fucking go there myself.”

Frey was motionless for quite some time before he finally walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been chastised by someone so much younger than him, but it hurt all the more because Sol’s words rang true. Despite his earlier misgivings, Frey had decided to move forward with digging into Sol’s past without truly understanding the burden he was pushing onto him. Now that the damage was being done, he had no right to try and absolve himself of the destruction caused by his hands. All he could do now was dedicate himself to staying by Sol’s side and seeing things through to the end, providing him with whatever he needed to make himself whole again.

“As you probably know, prior to King Tristan’s ascension, Tieria was ruled by his uncle Darius as regent,” Frey began.

“The one who was sentenced to a life of imprisonment for high treason?”

“Yes, among his many sins were making several attempts on the King’s life as well as successfully engineering the assassination of the late King and Queen through foreign collusion. The contents of the trial’s proceedings, including his full list of crimes, were made public following his sentencing. Not that it would have stuck out to you then even if you had seen it, but one of his last despicable acts was invading Rien and staging a coup.”

Sol felt a lump forming in his throat when he heard Frey mention Rien - the kingdom he was supposedly prince of.

“Nearly three years ago, Darius commanded a portion of the Tierian army to infiltrate Rien and struck decisively. He launched a sneak attack on the palace with the help of a traitor and murdered the royal family in their sleep,” Frey’s voice trembled minutely as he recalled hearing about the incident from Kyro and Tristan firsthand. Darius had sent Frey and his division of the army to the northwest border several weeks prior, preventing him from hearing about the attack, let alone having the opportunity to speak out against it. His inability to prevent such a horrific act haunted his conscience still.

“Officially, the record states that the entire family was wiped out - the King and Queen, three Princes, and one Princess.” Frey balled his fists and thought bitterly,  _ She was just a baby _ . “But, as it turned out, the Crown Prince, now King of Rien, managed to hide his identity and was brought back to Tieria by King Tristan. Like I said before, their story is a long and complicated one, but that brings us to you.”

Frey paused to glance at Sol. He had been mute for a while now, a far off and unreadable look on his face. Sol raised his head slowly to make eye contact with Frey, golden eyes burning intensely, waiting for the next words to come. Frey swallowed before continuing.

“If Kyro - formally known as King Renton Ashai - was able to fake his death, then perhaps you as well, were able to escape without being detected. Jude told me you were found at the northern foothills right around that time. To my understanding, the mountains surrounding Rien have an intricate system of tunnels and caves that you, as a member of the royal family, would have an intimate knowledge of. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that you fled through the mountains, only barely surviving the harsh conditions. And while I’m no physician, I wouldn’t discount the chance that given everything you suffered through, memory loss isn’t an unsurprising side effect.”

Silence hung in the air like a sword dangling above Frey’s head. He wasn’t sure where to look, opting to turn away and stare at the door to give Sol some privacy in his thoughts. After sitting uncomfortably for a while longer, he was about to open his mouth when Sol began to laugh. It started out quietly enough, then grew into a hysterical fit that unnerved Frey.

“Are you...alright?” he asked.

Sol couldn’t answer for some time, letting the maniacal laughter run its course. He wiped tears from his eyes, holding his stomach that ached from the spasms.

“Of course I’m not alright,” Sol spat, his voice hoarse but not lacking in vitriol. “Even if what you said is the truth, and I’m not saying I believe you,” he continued. “What kind of sick fucking joke is that? Sol, hate to break it to you, but your whole family except for one person is dead.” He scoffed, mentally unhinged enough that he almost started laughing uncontrollably again. It would be a lie to say that he had never in those few years considered who he could be, where he came from or what his family was doing, but he never expected them to be cold in the ground, either.

“Sol, I’m-”

“You’re what, Frey? Sorry?” Sol’s eyes, which by their hue should have radiated warmth rivaling the sun, were frosty and desolate. “Save it, I don’t need your platitudes. In fact, I don’t even want to see you right now. Leave me alone.” Sol pulled his knees up to his chest, burrowing his face in darkness. He heard Frey breathe out slowly then wordlessly stand up and exit the room, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was sure he was alone, Sol exhaled deeply, head bowed and eyes still tightly shut, sorting through his emotions. What he was faced with, however, frightened him to no end. He had anger, that was for sure, but his outburst was more around the injustice of the situation than anything. Anger that he had taken out on Frey, and was now burning down to cold embers. But what of sadness, grief, and loss? The lack of all other emotions, ones that any normal person would have in such a position, disturbed him greatly. In light of all the new information he had just learned, Sol wasn’t the least bit upset over hearing about “his” family’s murder. He couldn’t deny the fact that he felt empty and numb inside, as he had since waking up without his memories. 

He did, however, feel a little guilty that he had lashed out so harshly at Frey, when in reality he was the one testing his own hidden agenda. Sol thought that perhaps hearing about his past would incite some kind of reaction within him, but in the end he remained as detached and apathetic as ever. Frustrated, if anything, that nothing had changed. Sol had tried his best over the past few years to seem normal and lively in front of Jude and Mila - not wanting to betray their kindness - playing the part of an unruly and troubled but still lovable and mildly affectionate ward. However, his persona was only just that: an act.

After readjusting to life following his memory loss, Sol was disquieted to realize that he didn’t seem to feel things correctly anymore; things that he  _ knew  _ he should have specific reactions to, just didn’t register for him. His spirit grew weaker as he likened his mental state to being trapped in an endless library within his own mind. The only problem was that the most important books were all blank. For the past three years he stumbled around in the dark, trying to piece himself together, but more often than not came up with nothing.

Sol was caught in an internal struggle every waking moment, lost between the empty shell currently in control and who he really was. His inner thoughts second guessed every action he made, every word he spoke, wondering if “he” would have done the same. Aside from seemingly being unable to feel true joy, sadness, love, or hate, the one thing Sol did feel was fear. Fear of being overwritten by his true self if “his” memories ever came back. He shuddered at the thought, questioning who he would be,  _ who  _ would be left, if nearly two decades worth of formative and critical memories were released into his body.

In order to compensate for his unsettling emptiness, Sol had turned to habitually drowning himself in the sensations of physical contact. Being in a single moment with another person, were the only times he managed to feel grounded, like he actually existed and wouldn’t disappear. Perhaps if he were stronger Sol would have turned to fighting instead of prostitution, but he was quickly reaching a breaking point where he required such interactions to feel a semblance of stability. His depraved lifestyle disgusted himself, deepening his self loathing.

A large part of him despised Frey for coming into his life and ruining the delicate balance he had struck, as well as whoever Kyro was for being tied to his old self and driving Frey’s interference. Sol would also never admit it, but a small part of him fed that anger toward Frey with jealousy, once he realized that Frey was actually only interested in the other “him.” However, an even smaller part of Sol seemed to be reaching back out to them, desperate to forge the necessary connection in order to regain “his” memories. And that scared him deeply, since in his eyes, it may as well be equivalent to his own death.

So all Sol could do, when he realized how broken he was inside, was laugh. After all, laughing in the face of death seemed like appropriate behavior for someone of his mental shortcomings. He decided then that he would go to Lorelai with Frey, out of morbid curiosity in the most literal sense. Sol would play along with the charade and see what was hidden in his memories, what Kyro had to say to “him.” And if it came down to it, Sol would do whatever was necessary to protect himself, to liberate his soul from the jaws of the past. As for how he would deal with Frey, that was completely dependent upon the other party. The man was arrogant and pushy, acting like he knew what was best, but that meant it would be all the more fun to mess with Frey in the meantime. If he could lure the high and mighty general over to his side, Sol was sure he would be the one to come out on top.


	4. Chapter 4

Frey didn’t see Sol until later that evening. After getting kicked out, he had gone down to the inn’s bar to drink. It was extremely atypical behavior of him, to turn to alcohol for comfort, but he had never been dealt such a large blow to his esteem since the attack on Rien years ago. It certainly didn’t help his ego that the perpetrator was Kyro’s younger brother.  _ This is why I don’t bother myself with other people’s affairs _ , he thought, downing a mug of wine. And yet, Frey couldn’t help but continue to worry about Sol. Although at first he might have defaulted to his older brother persona he used with Tristan upon seeing similarities between the two, he felt his concern for Sol was somehow slightly different.

Just after dinner time, Frey had seen Mila go upstairs to check on Sol, only to come back down shortly to drag Jude along with her. The three seemed to talk for a while before they returned to the dining hall.

“Sol requests to see you, General Blackwood,” Jude said, a look of melancholy on his face.

Mila simply breezed into the kitchen without a word, all but slamming the door behind her. Frey nodded wordlessly and got up from the bar stool stiffly, unsure of how long he had been sitting there, drinking and stewing in his thoughts. He wasn’t the least bit drunk or incapacitated, as he was surprisingly quite immune to the physical effects of alochol, but Frey was as emotionally drained as he had ever been. He slowly made his way upstairs and knocked gently on Sol’s door.

“Sol?” he called out tentatively.

“Come in.” Sol’s voice was quiet and soft, a far cry from his earlier ferocity.

Frey slowly entered the room without making a sound, closing the door behind him. Only a couple of the lamps were lit, along with a small fire burning in the fireplace to fend off the cold. He walked over to where Sol remained sitting in his bed, noting that he seemed to have taken a bath earlier, for a few glistening droplets of water clung to his hair and he emitted a sweet, floral scent. Frey figured he was just about to sleep, hastily averting his eyes when he noticed Sol was only wearing his usual black choker and a loosely buttoned oversized blouse, catching an eyeful of exposed tan skin almost everywhere he looked.

“You wanted to see me?” he coughed, cautiously approaching the bed.

“Frey!” Sol said, quickly sitting up on his knees to face the general. “I...I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier.” He set his eyes downward, focusing on his fingers that were woven together in his lap. His long, dark lashes fluttered delicately in the glow of the fire, casting shadowy butterflies by his eyes. “It was uncalled for and unacceptable, so I’m sorry.” Sol acted every part the innocent, nervous child who threw a tantrum and was awaiting punishment.

Frey’s heart softened and he sat down beside Sol, lifting a hand to gently stroke his head.

“Forget about it,” he murmured. “You were overloaded with distressing information, not to mention the shock you had the other night. I’m sorry, too. I’m not...the most delicate when it comes to dealing with people’s feelings.”

_ This guy is a total fucking joke, _ Sol thought, internally rolling his eyes and suppressing the urge to vomit. Instead he sniffed quietly, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“I was just...I don’t know what’s happening in my head and it scares the shit out of me,” he said, surprising himself with his honesty. Sol mentally kicked himself, ordering himself to get his thoughts straight.

Frey placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and looked at him with eyes like melted sapphires.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to try to remember anything anymore. You should stay here with Jude and Mila, your mental health will be better.”

“N-no!” Sol said quickly. “I mean, I want to go. I’ve decided to go. With you, to Lorelai.” He bit his lip, praying that Frey wouldn’t actually rescind his offer. “I can’t...stay the way I’ve been anymore. I need to face my past,” he added.

Frey continued to watch Sol intently, a wave of conflict passing through him.

“Are you sure?” he asked, brows furrowed. “I can’t promise you won’t be subjected to similar pain again.” In all honesty, Frey thought that if Sol truly regained his memories, he would suffer a lot worse.

Sol nodded his head vehemently.

“I’m sure. This is something I  _ have  _ to do,” he said with determination. Sol looked away awkwardly and continued, “And...I kind of already told Gramps and Gran I was leaving with you...”

“Ah.”

_ That explains their attitude earlier _ , he thought. Frey sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back messily. He had already decided he didn’t want to drag Sol further down a rabbit hole he wasn’t sure would be possible to climb out of, but Frey also vowed to listen to Sol’s desires, as well.

“If that’s what you really want, then I will take you to Lorelai.”

_ Too easy _ , Sol thought with a scoff.

“Thank you, Frey,” he said, looking away and smiling shyly.

“Then, depending on the weather, we should be able to leave within a day or two. I’ll prepare supplies for the trip tomorrow. You focus on resting and packing.”

Sol nodded as Frey started to get up to leave.

“Wait!” Sol grabbed Frey’s hand on a whim, causing the general to turn with a puzzled look on his face.

“Can...can you stay with me tonight?” he mumbled. He blushed slightly and quickly added, “I’m worried I’ll have another fit.”

“Of course,” Frey said seriously, without a second thought. He was no stranger to spending the night watching over someone plagued by nightmares. Frey pushed the worn reading chair in the corner of Sol’s room over to his bedside before settling down in it. “I’ll be right here, all night.”

Sol nodded his thanks and climbed under the sheets, closing his eyes with a small, satisfied smile on his face. Frey did as he promised, watching Sol as he slowly fell asleep. He sat unmoving throughout the night, contemplating the similarities and differences between Sol and the country’s king in his youth. They were both bright, headstrong, and determined. But while Tristan, even in his darkest days, always exuded light, Frey couldn’t shake the feeling that shadows seemed to follow Sol wherever he went. There was something dark hiding within him, and Frey wasn’t sure what would happen when it was let loose. Sol also had to do something about his vulgar language and behavior. With turbulent thoughts swirling in his mind, eventually he too fell asleep.

Frey woke early the next morning to an empty bed in front of him, immediately standing with a start. He looked around quickly, on high alert, when Sol walked out of the bathroom, yawning. He was still only wearing the shirt, long legs bare and enticing. Frey suddenly recalled Kyro’s habit of only wearing bottoms to sleep and felt a migraine forming at his temples.

“Morning,” Sol said casually, digging through his wardrobe.

“Good morning, did you sleep alright?”

“Yep.” He started pulling on a pair of trousers then slid the shirt off over his head, still searching for a new one to wear.

Frey sighed, having thought that they had made some progress the previous night but it seemed like with the immediate danger having passed, Sol had returned to his carefree and insouciant attitude.

“Well then, the trip won’t exactly be short but pack lightly as we’ll have a lot of ground to cover under bad weather. You’ll want to wear most of your layers to minimize what will be stored in your bag. We’ll touch base later on our schedule.”

Sol merely nodded, having finally found a clean shirt and tugging it onto his body. Frey shook his head and was about to leave the other to his own devices when he finally spoke.

“Oh, Frey?”

“Yes?”

“You’re still gonna pay me, right?”

Frey nearly snorted in surprise, choking it back.

“You do realize that if you are one of Rien’s princes, money will be the least of your concerns?” He raised an eyebrow, wondering just why Sol was so obsessed with his savings.

“I know,” he shrugged. “But I need to cover my bases, yeah? Plus, this is  _ your  _ money, not Rien’s.” Sol grinned wolfishly.

Frey sighed and waved his hand, promising he would uphold his end of the bargain. Leaving the money-grubbing youth behind, he moved briskly, returning to his room to wash and change before heading out into the city. The clouds were visibly thinner and snow had finally stopped falling, much to his relief. If he were traveling alone, he probably would have left that night. Since he had to look after Sol, however, he would have to settle for riding out at first light the following day. He had been away from the capital for far too long and did not want to delay their departure any more. Frey hurriedly dropped by several different stores, automatically running through mental checklists he knew by heart. By the time he returned to the inn, his arms were full of the necessary purchases.

“Whatcha got there, General?” Jude asked, friendly as always. He and Sol were clearing and wiping down tables from the last of the lunch rush.

“A variety of supplies and rations, plus winter riding clothes for Sol. I figured he must not have any if he’s stayed in Mistfall all this time. I also purchased a horse for him,” Frey answered.

Sol listened to their conversation from across the room, willing his face to remain neutral. He felt the sensation of warmth creeping up his neck, pleased at Frey’s thoughtfulness.

“Och, I almost forgot,” Jude said, smacking himself in the head. “We’re all going to have a sit-down dinner tonight, Mila’s orders. You too, General.”

Frey tilted his head in acknowledgement before going upstairs, leaving Sol’s half of the purchases outside the other’s room before returning to his own. Frey didn’t have many possessions so packing was efficient and easy, a routine habit perfected by years of practice. He couldn’t believe he had stayed in Mistfall for five days already, and hoped that the remainder of his journey back to Lorelai would be quick and uneventful. Frey also was keen to finally learn what was so important that Tristan had to tell him in person. He sighed when he thought about what a commotion Sol’s presence would cause, but that was a bridge they would cross when they got there. After cleaning himself up, he went back downstairs to join everyone for dinner.

Sol’s last meal with his adoptive grandparents was a quiet affair, as they gathered after all the other guests had retired to their rooms. Frey kept to himself, taciturn as usual, while the other three chattered casually. Sol promised to bring back gifts from the capital for Jude and Mila, convinced he would only be gone for one, maybe two weeks tops. His guardians mirrored his sentiments, but they both knew the possibility of him leaving them for much longer was quite high. Neither wanted to send him off in low spirits, however, so the evening passed in a jovial mood despite Mila looking like she would burst into tears every so often. Frey guessed that there would definitely be crying the next day.

At the culmination of the night, Frey reminded Sol to be ready to depart at sunrise. They still had several days of riding between Mistfall and Lorelai, and he doubted Sol would be able to keep up without stopping to rest at night, so they had to make full use of the small amount of daylight that was available in the winter. Frey still had his concerns about the entire affair, feeling a strange sense of nervousness like never before, but suppressed his unease to the back of his mind. He had to be a solid support for Sol, not just because he felt responsible for the mess in the first place, but because he wanted to. Frey knew Sol’s world would soon open up like never before, bringing him out of the lonely darkness he was trapped in for the past three years. It was his duty to safely help him step out into the light, although even after things were all said and done, he hoped to be able to continue to watch over him. With such puzzling thoughts plaguing his mind, Frey was able to catch a few hours of sleep before their fateful departure.

The two of them met in silence as the stars were just beginning to fade from the sky, winking out of visibility but remaining ever present. Sol had followed Frey’s instructions and bundled up in several layers, now standing before Jude and Mila outside the inn.

“Remember to not skip any meals and to always dry your hair after taking a bath,” Mila said, cupping Sol’s cheeks in her hands. Since they had found him several years ago, he had grown significantly and she now had to reach up quite far to touch his face. The corners of Mila’s eyes were wet with tears as Sol held her hands gently, bending down to kiss her on both cheeks.

“Really, you’re making such a big deal out of this. I’ll be back before you know it, ok?” He smiled softly, turning to look at Jude. “Don’t give Grams a hard time,” he joked.

Jude sniffed but had a strained expression on his face, not wanting to give in to the gloom.

“I reckon with you gone Mila won’t have the backup needed to bully me around,” he laughed. Jude ruffled Sol’s hair and gave him a hearty clasp on the back. “Get outta here, already, kid. And take it easy.”

Sol slung his bag over his shoulder and hugged them both tightly before turning away. It wasn’t that far of a walk to the stables where their horses were being kept, so they would still be able to ride out as the sun began to rise. Frey bowed his head in acknowledgement to Jude and Mila before starting to follow after Sol when his wrist was suddenly grabbed.

“You take care of him, you hear me?” Mila said quietly with the ferocity of a devoted parent. “Protect him with your life. Your.  _ Life! _ ”

Frey nodded solemnly, having already decided to do so without her urging. The elderly couple watched as the two tall figures walked away, highlighted by the soft blush of the predawn light. The ethereal rays made it seem like they were crossing into another world, one that was far, far away. But they prayed nonetheless for their safe passage, and more importantly, swift return.

***

_ Bored. _

_ So bored. _

_ I’m so  _ fucking  _ bored. _

Sol thought he was going to lose what little was left of his mind traveling to Lorelai. Since leaving Mistfall, Frey had set a grueling pace for a novice rider with barely any breaks. Although he had learnt how to ride a horse last summer at Jude’s brother’s farm and felt confident in his skills, Sol was not prepared for the soreness and maddening monotony of long distance riding. Frey turned out to be an unsurprisingly terrible traveling companion, never speaking unless there was something of import to discuss and keeping his focus one hundred percent on the road in front of them. Sol had planned to at least try and entertain himself by annoying Frey, but the stoic general paid him no heed as they raced across the countryside. After several attempts at trying to get Frey’s attention, Sol learned through experience that opening his mouth to yell over the wind was just asking for bugs to fly in. After two days of hard riding, he wanted nothing more than to never ride a horse again.

When night fell, Frey would blessedly take them off the path to detour into whatever village or town he had mentally picked out ahead of time. This thankfully allowed them and their horses to rest for the night - although Sol quickly learned that his steed was not permanent, for Frey would trade out Sol’s horse for a fresh one each stop - before repeating the same exhausting thing the next day.

The place they were currently pulling into was a medium sized market town known to be a hotspot for traveling merchants. The sun began to slip below the horizon, its dying light casting a bloody glow on their surroundings as they stabled their horses and looked around for an inn. Much to their dismay, most of the proper establishments were fully booked. Under normal circumstances, if Frey were on duty handling official business with the army, he would have easily found lodging at the town’s military outpost. However, as that was not the case and he was not one to abuse his position, the two were forced to settle for a run-down tavern that only had one single room available.

Once they had checked into the small room, Sol let out an exasperated groan and immediately flopped onto the lone bed.

“I hate riding. I hate being bored. I hate you. I hate everything.” His muffled complaints rose out of the pillow he had stuffed his face into, lamenting about the current state of things. Sol’s entire body hurt and his mood was perpetually sour for a variety of reasons.

“You’ll live,” Frey said, dropping his pack onto the table with a thud. “Maybe two, maximum three, days until we reach the capital.” He patted Sol’s shoulder sympathetically before digging through his things. “I’m going to take a shower, we’ll eat dinner in an hour, alright?”

Sol’s response was simply a muted grunt. Frey sighed and exited the shabby room, heading to the communal bathroom at the end of the hall. In his experience as a soldier, Frey had suffered through significantly worse conditions than even just roughing it in the woods and was by no means dependent upon modern conveniences. But that didn’t mean that given the option, he wouldn’t choose the more comfortable route.  _ Maybe I am getting too soft _ , he thought, thinking of how to increase his workout regimen when he had the chance to pick up training again. Frey took his time under the weak spray of tepid water, waiting for it to slowly ease the tension in his muscles. He returned, feeling somewhat refreshed and looking forward to dinner, only to find the door slightly ajar and the room empty.

“Sol?” Frey looked around the tiny room, unable to even find a plausible hiding spot for the tall youth. His heart began to beat against his chest as he swallowed hard, trying to reassure himself that Sol had simply gone downstairs to eat first and forgot to lock the room. He hurried down the stairs, taking them three at a time, until he could survey the dining hall from his high vantage point. Most of the tables were occupied by other travel weary faces, but Sol was nowhere to be seen.

“Excuse me,” he called to the woman manning the counter, suddenly appearing before her and out of breath. “Did you see a young, tan male almost my height with short dark hair and a mole by his left eye leave the building?”

“Maybe,” she said flatly, staring at him with disinterest in her eyes. “Lots of people coming and going.”

Frey’s blue eyes narrowed to icy points, resisting the urge to reach over the counter and shake an answer out of her. Instead he dug through his pockets, finding a couple gold coins with his fingers and slammed them onto the counter. The woman’s eyes lit up as she swept them into her pocket.

“Yeah, someone like that left a bit ago. Wasn’t alone, either. Was surrounded by a buncha rough looking fellas.”

Frey instantly tensed, feeling his fingers curl tightly around the edge of the bar.

“Thank you,” he said through his teeth before running back upstairs to their room. His mind officially switched into panic mode and he reached into his bag until his hand wrapped around a small wooden box. He withdrew it and flipped the lid open, watching the dial in the center spin until it stabilized, pointing in one direction. Frey ran outside without a second thought, sprinting through the dark streets wherever the arrow took him.

Several years ago, the King of Tieria, then only the Crown Prince, had run off during a blizzard without anyone knowing, barely being found by Kyro before freezing to death. Frey couldn’t sleep for weeks following the incident, feeling like a miserable failure for having been unable to protect the most important person in his life. Since then, he learned to take extra precautions even if it made him seem a little psychotic.

Prior to leaving Mistfall, Frey had hidden a soulstone charm in one of Sol’s boots. Created by a talented aura user, the thin, flat tag that had been attached inconspicuously to the underside of the shoe’s arch gave off a pull that drew the needle inside the paired compass toward its direction. He prayed Sol was somewhere still inside the city, not wanting to have to waste time backtracking to fetch his horse. It had barely been an hour tops, since he had left Sol alone, so Frey figured he couldn’t have gone far. His thoughts flipped between coming up with harmless scenarios of Sol simply wanting to stretch his legs to more dire ones where he was caught in some kind of trouble. Frey couldn’t think straight until he realized he was circling a medium sized building that appeared to be a warehouse in a row of identical ones.

He stowed the compass in his pocket and crept up to the door, straining against the cold wood, barely catching the sounds of movement inside. Biting his lip, he removed a pin hidden in his hair behind his ear and worked on the door lock. Frey would never admit it, but he had learned lock picking after hearing Kyro boast about how useful it was; in fact, there was a period of time where Frey diligently worked to acquire and surpass any skills the man had that he didn’t, desperate to maintain his sense of superiority.

After fiddling with the pin for a few moments, he was able to quietly unlock the door. Frey slipped inside and shut the door behind him, cautiously taking in his surroundings. It was a large, open space filled with rows and rows of shelves packed full of boxes. The building was mostly dark, but Frey could see light and hear voices coming from the very back of the warehouse. He kept to the shadows along the shelves, silently approaching until he saw a scene that incited his bloodlust like never before.

A man in an expensive looking suit leaned back in a chair, a cruel and haughty expression on his face. He sipped wine out of a crystal glass, feet casually propped up on…

_ Sol! _

Frey’s heart felt like it was pierced by a million needles. Sol was bent over on the floor, hands bound tightly behind him, being used as a footrest. He trembled in pain, breathing heavily and coughing blood that splattered the ground with crimson. A chain was attached to the ring in the hollow of his throat, the other end held tightly by the man.

“Sol, my sweet, beautiful, stupid, worthless Sol,” he mused. “Did you really think you could run from me?”

“Fuck...you,” Sol spat, sending a trail of blood flying.

The man who could only be the notorious Cristoff Rook frowned imperceptibly before yanking on the chain, painfully stretching Sol’s neck backward.

“Now, now,” he soothed. “You lost that privilege when you decided you were too good to stay by my side, hm? Tell me, what did you think you could possibly gain by leaving me?”

Sol was red in the face from being unable to relax his head, struggling to breathe until Cristoff loosened his hold. He wheezed, hot tears leaking from his eyes as the room spun around him.

“It has...nothing...to do with...you,” he eventually managed to say.

Cristoff was quiet for a moment before violently smashing the wine glass against the ground, sending glittering shards and droplets of wine everywhere. He stood and held the chain in the air, pulling Sol onto his knees. Cristoff kicked Sol in the stomach, causing him to grunt in pain, but he continued to glare up at the man without yielding.

“Nothing to do with me?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who found you pathetically wandering the streets at night, a witless little beast craving affection and attention from any drunkard who would look your way? I raised you up,  _ I  _ gave you your worth. It has  _ everything  _ to do with me!”

“I never intended to skip out on my debt, I just decided I wouldn’t be paying with my body anymore,” Sol seethed in response.

Cristoff gripped Sol’s cheeks with one hand, fingernails digging painfully into his skin.

“That’s not something for you to decide,” he said calmly. “I think you’ll do quite well as the star attraction of my newest establishment. It’s been a long time coming but I’m finally going to break into the Lorelai market, and I’m certain your pretty face will be a hit there.” Laughing lightly, he releasing Sol’s face and shoved him toward the ground.

Frey had never before wanted to see someone’s head ripped from their body as badly as he did then, but a warning voice in the back of his head kept him in line.  _ I cannot kill civilians _ , he told himself over and over like a mantra to restrain his fury. A wall of seven thugs stood between him and Sol, but Frey was confident he could take them down without mortally wounding them. He hadn’t thought to grab his sword before he left, but in the end it was all the better since he most certainly would have killed Cristoff if he were armed.

“Let him go.”

Frey’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and cold. He stepped up to the edge of the light, his face half cast in shadow and exuding a murderous aura. Cristoff’s men quickly turned and spread out to either side, allowing the businessman a clear view of the intruder.

“F-Frey!” Sol cried, feeling indignant and frustrated in his useless state.

“Oh? Is this who you ran off with? How touching,” Cristoff sneered. “His face isn’t bad though, I’ll give you that. In fact, I think we’ll take him too.” He snapped his fingers and the men surrounding Frey sprang to action.

Seven burly and vicious looking thugs lunged at Frey simultaneously, thinking to restrain him with brute force in one go. Frey let himself be rushed, disappearing under their bodies. Sol let out a scream of horror when suddenly the men were repelled back. Two pairs of fists and legs flew in every direction, smashing noses into bloody pulps and splintering bones with decisive strikes.

_ Wh-why are there two Freys... _ Sol thought hazily, unable to recall the factoid regarding Frey’s aura ability he had once read years prior as his mind began to fog up from the stress and beatings he endured. He watched Frey fight, beautifully and terrifyingly, but from a distance, as if he were witnessing things through a bird’s eye view. Seeing two identical faces in motion struck something inside of him, causing his heart to seize up in pain.

“Boss, he’s too strong!” one of the thugs shouted before an elbow slammed into his throat.

Cristoff bit down on his lip so hard a trail of red dripped down his chin, stunned and infuriated at how the unassuming man was tearing through his most brutal fighters. He mercilessly yanked on the chain, choking Sol and pulling him to his feet.

“Stop! If you care about this dirty whore’s life, stand down,” he shouted. Cristoff had one arm around Sol, holding him up and another in a fist by his neck. Frey’s eyes flashed, immediately drawn to the spiked ring held just above Sol’s skin. He halted the punch that was about to crush the face of a man he held by the collar, instead throwing him aside roughly. Likewise, Frey’s copy abruptly stopped moving and dissipated into thin air, as if he were only a trick of the light. Cristoff’s face was drawn, lips pulled back in a vicious sneer as he barked at his men to get out. They obediently withdrew through the back door, biting back cries of pain and leaking blood.

Frey growled menacingly, eyes wide and sparking like cracks of lightning across the sky.

“Release him,” he commanded.

“You’re going to regret ever having crossed me,” Cristoff hissed. “But I guess it’s heartwarming to know there’s someone out there who cares for this filth. Such a shame, he could have had a bright future with me. Instead, you’ve condemned him to no future at all.”

Frey’s heart stopped as he watched the other man stab the ring right under Sol’s jaw then toss him aside before running away. He let out a guttural scream, dashing forward to catch Sol’s limp body and pluck the empty needle from his neck. After unlatching the inhumane chain from his choker, Frey tried to suck out whatever Cristoff had poisoned him with, the metallic tang of iron hitting his tongue, but the wound was too small to draw out enough blood quickly enough.

“Shit!”

He scooped Sol into his arms and burst out of the warehouse, tearing through the snowlined, moonlit streets like a madman.


	5. Chapter 5

No matter where Frey went, he always memorized his immediate surroundings after passing through them once. It was using this subconscious knowledge that he honed in on an apothecary’s shop he had barely glanced at, banging furiously on the door. Frey was about to splinter it off its hinges when it creaked open a tiny amount, stopped by a deadbolt chain. A bearded old man appeared in the crack, glaring angrily at whomever had woken him up.

“Wh-what do you think you’re doing in the middle of the night-”

“The Crown requires your immediate compliance and that you treat this man. Refusing to do so will be considered treason of the highest order, your business will be shut down, and you will be imprisoned pending trial.” Frey spoke sharply, holding up the golden badge he always kept somewhere on his person.

The man’s eyes grew small in terror but he unchained the door and hurriedly ushered them inside. Frey followed him to the back of the room, where an examination table and other medical equipment lay. He gently set Sol down while the apothecary lit all the lights in the room.

“He was injected with whatever was inside this.” Frey passed the minuscule needle to the man, hands balling into fists now that his arms were empty and devoid of purpose.

The old man examined the needle closely, pulling a pair of spectacles onto his face, before examining Sol.

“Unresponsive, slow blood flow, dangerously low heart rate, body temperature falling,” he muttered to himself. He shuffled around in his cabinets until he found a bottle and began pouring out a measured amount. The apothecary tilted Sol’s head back and opened his mouth, carefully tipping the liquid down his throat.

“Will he be ok? Is that the antidote?” Frey asked impatiently.

“I don’t know exactly what was in that needle, but given how such a small amount caused this severe a reaction, I reckon it is a very potent paralytic agent. One that is designed to effectively shut down internal processes until the body dies.”

Frey blanched, clenching his fists until his nails drew blood from his palms.

“But what you gave him, it’ll help?”

“I believe so, but I cannot be certain.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. “I gave him the strongest stimulant I have, in hopes that it will keep him functioning until the toxin runs its course. It...may invoke some side effects but I assume his life is more important.”

Frey let out a small breath of relief, glad that at the very least something was being done to save him.

“Actually,” he said quickly. “I may have ingested some of the toxin as well.” Frey mentally kicked himself for being so rash, realizing that if he had also fallen to the poison, there would have been no one left to help Sol.

The man nodded and poured a bowl of the drug for Frey. He took it graciously and downed it without a second thought.

“Monitor his condition closely to see if he improves and keep him warm. He will be fine if his heart rate is restored to about sixty to seventy beats per minute.”

Frey carried Sol in his arms and thanked the apothecary profusely, still on edge but no longer feeling like he was at the precipice of despair. He hurried back to the inn they were staying at, jogging to keep his body temperature up and shielding Sol from the cold air as much as possible. Frey navigated through the now dark and quiet building until they were safely inside their room. He laid Sol down on the bed after removing his boots, trying to make him more comfortable, before finally inspecting him with rational eyes under the dim light from the sole lamp in the room.

Sol’s body was covered in a landscape of bruises, the colors shifting in a gradient dark enough to stand out on his skin, like purple and black paint. However, luckily his wounds seemed to be primarily superficial and nothing was broken. Frey wiped away the blood and grime he could see with a wet cloth, testing his pulse every so often. He felt a huge weight removed from his chest as Sol’s heart beat gradually strengthened. Frey wrapped the thin blankets as well as both their cloaks around him to keep him insulated, confident that the critical danger had passed.

Meanwhile, Frey felt increasingly agitated, getting up several times to pace the room, which suddenly felt too hot and small to be in, but he didn’t dare to leave Sol alone even for a moment. His own heart rate was starting to spike, as if he had just run several laps around Lorelai castle without stopping. Frey changed into his sleeping clothes - a pair of comfortable, loose pants and a sleek robe - thinking he might be able to sleep it off, but staying still was even more unbearable. He had far too much energy in his body, coiled inside him like a spring that was threatening to snap. And like a spring, his lower half abruptly came to life.

Frey sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, despairing in his realization at just what kind of stimulant he had taken. Given the fact that he was probably barely, if at all, affected by the toxin, his body was now suffering the full influence of the drug. He wanted to curse the apothecary to an early grave, anger rising within him, but he instead forced himself to calm his breathing, focusing on slowly inhaling and exhaling, trying to clear his mind of any and all distracting thoughts. He felt a modicum of relief before being startled by movement from the other side of the bed, feeling Sol struggling against the cocoon of blankets he was wrapped in.

Sol grunted in displeasure, hating the feeling of being restricted and the stuffy heat surrounding him. He felt strong hands helping him out of the knot of fabric he had somehow wiggled himself into, flailing wildly until he was free. His mind was still muddled and he sat up in a daze, trying to swallow but feeling like his insides were on fire.  _ So...hot _ , he thought, attempting to unbutton his shirt with clumsy hands that shook.

“Sol?” Frey asked softly, not wanting to spook the other who seemed to be moving as if in a trance. “How are you feeling?”

Sol slowly turned to look at Frey, staring at him until he recognized who the exquisite face and alluring azure eyes belonged to. Tears suddenly slid down Sol’s cheeks as he launched himself into Frey’s arms, causing the compromised general to panic.

“What’s wrong, does anything hurt?”

Sol nodded furiously, but he wasn’t thinking of the stinging lacerations or tender bruises that collectively would normally send searing pain through his body. The only thing on his mind was the deeply buried fear that constantly discomforted his consciousness, like an itch he could never scratch. Being at Cristoff’s mercy again, hearing the words that cut the furthest into his piling insecurities resulted in even more cracks in his already unstable mental foundation.

“Don’tleavemealonepleaseneedmedon’tletmedisappear-” Words fell out of his mouth in an incoherent, overlapping stream as he clung to Frey.

“Sol calm down, you’re not making any sense,” Frey pleaded, trying to push Sol off of himself to create some distance between them but to no avail.

He refused to budge, trembling against Frey. His will was shattered, trapped in a looping existential crisis that had been tormenting him since he first woke up with no sense of who he was. Sol’s mental downward spiral was momentarily disturbed by the heat and stiffness he felt coming from Frey’s lower half. His eyes widened in surprise, wondering briefly why the man had gotten into such a state, but Sol’s scattered mind was able to recover its facilities by focusing solely on the one thing he was familiar with.

“That looks painful,” he purred, looking up at Frey, whose face was now deeply flushed, with wet eyes that sparkled like jewels under the lamp’s glow. “I can help you... _ use me _ .” Sol leaned forward, whispering seductively in Frey’s ear as he reached into his robe and trailed a hand down his bare chest. He traced the contours of Frey’s powerful muscles with feather light touches, slowly making his way lower and sending shivers down the man’s spine.

“S-stop, what are you doing-” Frey stammered in alarm, frozen in shock.

Like a switch had flipped within him, Sol had practically transformed into a different, unfamiliar persona within seconds. He suddenly pulled open Frey’s robe and yanked on his waistband, freeing the throbbing erection Frey had been so desperate to hide. He was mortified but infinitely more so when Sol swiftly took his entire length inside his mouth, tendrils of soft hair tickling the sensitive skin around his crotch.

Frey felt like he was being endlessly struck by bolts of lightning, fire burning through his veins. His first instinct was to push Sol away, but the threat of teeth around his weakest part that could hurt him, accidentally or not, suppressed his will to move. He gasped as Sol’s warm throat encased him, the hot and slippery sensation as his head moved back and forth in tandem with the swirling of his tongue caused Frey’s mind to go blank.

Unlike the other soldiers, Frey never chased physical gratification and even saw such naturally occurring reactions as nothing more than inconveniences to be dealt with. But watching Sol’s captivating performance, feeling the pleasure that filled every inch of his body, lit an inferno of desire deep within him. He craved the feel of entwining his hands in Sol’s silken hair, to hold him close and embrace him properly so that no one beside himself would ever dare touch this beauty again, but his deteriorating yet still barely there self control prevented him from doing so. What he couldn’t control, however, was the rising tide growing within him, waiting to be released. Frey could endure no longer and climaxed inside Sol’s mouth with a sharp gasp, sending a torrent of heat pouring down his throat.

Sol expertly swallowed the thick liquid and let out a low moan, the vibrations sending residual shockwaves through Frey. He finally withdrew his head, licking his swollen lips and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. Sol smiled and playfully left a trail of kisses along the still very engorged and twitching member in front of him, excited for the second round. He slid his hands up Frey’s thighs, moving to crawl into his lap when both his wrists were grabbed.

Frey held Sol gently but firmly, looking at him with a pained expression. His heart ached for the other, not understanding why he was so obsessed with debasing himself.

“Why?” he cried softly, unable to stop the tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

A look of confusion and hurt flashed across Sol’s face but was quickly swept away by a light laugh.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with two people feeling good together?” he crooned, struggling helplessly against Frey’s grip.

The composure Frey had painstakingly built into an impenetrable fortress, brick by brick over the past twenty-nine years of his life, came crumbling down around him. He had let an innocent looking, bright eyed youth with a lonely smile in and was desperately trying to prevent the both of them from being crushed.

“I’m not a mind reader, Sol!” he shouted in exasperation. “I’m not even good at normal human interactions, let alone whatever you’re dealing with. But I don’t know how to help you if you don’t talk to me.” He shook his head, letting it hang in dejection with a sigh. “I can’t guess what is driving you into a corner but it hurts me to see you like this.” Frey wasn’t sure how Sol managed to occupy such a large space inside him, but he understood his feelings went far beyond simple responsibility or sympathy. However, the stoic man was unable to express himself properly, especially in the face of Sol’s manic and self-destructive behavior.

Sol finally managed to tear away from Frey’s grasp as the hold on his arms loosened, rearing back with dark shadows in the depths of his eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he said defensively, bristling under Frey’s eyes.

_ Liar. _

“How rude, I was only trying to do you a favor,” he scoffed.

_ A favor? Funny way to say ‘use him for your own benefit.’ _

“ _ Shut the fuck up! _ ” Sol roared, clutching his head in his hands.

Frey looked at him, horror and concern striking deep in his heart.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said quietly, reaching out a hand to comfort him.

Sol slapped him away, glaring.

“I wasn’t talking to  _ you _ ,” he snarled viciously before realizing his mistake, the last bit of light leaving his eyes. The final vestiges of his mental fortitude were ground into dust as he saw the troubled look on Frey’s face.

_ Are you happy? _ he cried to himself.  _ Now he knows how fucked up I am, although I suppose it was only a matter of time. _ Sol desperately wanted to grab a knife and plunge it deep into his heart, thinking that maybe the next time he woke up, it would be “him” instead and his own pitiful existence would be erased, as it should be. Everyone would surely be happier that way: his adoptive grandparents would have the perfect grandson they deserved, Kyro would get his beloved brother back, and Frey... Sol wasn’t exactly sure what Frey wanted from him, but perhaps restoring “him” was just for his own sense of honor and duty, to eradicate the monster that was currently living in “his” skin. Nobody would choose the warped imposter he was over the original, Sol thought in despair.

_ I’m a lie. I’m a fake. I don’t exist. I shouldn’t exist. I don’t  _ deserve  _ to exist. _

The same five lines cycled through his mind painfully, dragging him down into the shadows of his subconscious.

“...ol! Sol!”

Frey roughly shook Sol by the shoulders while calling his name, barely managing to interrupt his psychotic break. His mind was in turmoil, terrified as he watched as Sol was seemingly shutting down right before him. Frey held his face up so that Sol could focus on him, although his golden eyes were dull and tears flowed endlessly. He kept his tone even and measured as he spoke, trying to reach wherever Sol had retreated to.

“What do you need from me?” he asked.

Sol remained unresponsive, as if he hadn’t even heard Frey.

“ _ What do you need from me? _ ” he repeated, voice breaking as he searched through the emptiness in the other’s eyes. “ _ Sol! _ ”

Like a single spark catching fire, Sol finally returned to his senses, fighting to shake off the darkness that threatened to overtake him.

“F-Frey,” he gasped, trying to hold onto Frey’s burning gaze like a lifeline, lest he drown in the depths of his mind for good. “Hold me,” he cried, vision blurring from all the tears. “Be with me, even if it’s a lie, make me feel like you need me.  _ Please _ .”  _ Choose  _ me _ , not  _ him, he added silently. Sobs racked his body, causing him to tremble in Frey’s hands.

Conflict tore Frey apart; it broke his heart to be with Sol yet not in the way he honestly desired, but had already committed to giving in to the other’s wishes long ago. There was no more room left for his own selfishness, so even if it wasn’t what Sol truly needed in the end to heal, Frey had to comply.

Frey kissed Sol, silencing his tortured cries. As it deepened, Sol’s shaking slowly subsided and he reached out to wrap his arms tightly around Frey’s neck, as if he was still expecting him to leave at any moment. Frey easily ripped open Sol’s shirt, half of the buttons already undone from earlier, and slipped it off his shoulders while their mouths remained occupied. Sol pushed up onto his knees, leaning in closer while Frey’s hands began exploring every inch of his skin. They were firm and calloused from hard work, but warm and gentle. Sol gasped and shuddered as he felt Frey’s fingers dip below his waistband, suddenly plunging into him. Electricity coursed through him from Frey’s touch, making him feel more alive than ever.

Sol moaned as Frey’s strong fingers worked him into a soft putty, his backside eager and waiting to be filled after several nights of neglect. Their lips drew apart for a rare moment, both panting hard as Sol pushed Frey down onto the bed. He quickly removed his pants and straddled Frey, lining up his own erection with Frey’s. Frey bit his lip, watching Sol erotically stroke both of them at the same time, holding back his voice as he luxuriated in the thrilling pleasure.

Although Sol was especially aroused, his size couldn’t compare to Frey’s immense girth. Eventually he couldn’t wait any longer, desperately desiring Frey to enter him completely. He raised himself up, keeping steady with his hands on Frey’s waist, and slowly began to devour Frey with his body. Sol strained at first to swallow all of him, for despite being roughly stretched and Frey dripping with moisture, it was still a tight fit. Once fully seated, Sol felt like he was being pierced to his core. He soared in the sensation of being connected to another, finally feeling like he was substantial enough to exist in the world. Frey smoothly rolled up and held Sol’s head with both his hands, wantonly running his fingers through the short mess of hair and kissing him passionately.

They remained together late into the night, both peaking a countless number of times until Sol passed out from exhaustion. Frey wept silently as they lay tangled in the small bed, having felt like he could almost graze the enormity of Sol’s pain when they were united. He realized that Sol was trying to fill the void left inside him from the loss of his sense of self with empty love and affection, erroneously equating a physical embrace to an emotional one. Perhaps there was a reason why Sol couldn’t simply accept others’ feelings at face value, showcasing an alarming amount of distrust and hostility at times, as if switching between two vastly different personalities. But since Frey was able to reach him at some level, he was resolved to give Sol everything he had. He would fill Sol with his devotion until he overflowed, until one day, he was no longer needed. On that day Frey hoped to at least be able to see him happy and live genuinely, even if he didn’t have a place by his side anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

Frey woke to a warm body curled against him and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. As he sat up, Sol stirred beside him, causing his pulse to quicken as memories of the previous night flooded his brain. When his companion didn’t make any further moves to waken, Frey shook his shoulder gently, casting any wayward thoughts aside.

“Sol, how are you feeling?” he asked softly. “We have to keep moving.”

“Everything hurts,” came Sol’s muffled reply.

Frey’s blood froze over, immediately drawing the conclusion that he had hurt the other when Sol continued.

“I’ll fucking kill Rook if I ever see his ugly mug again... Thought he was gonna break something for sure.”

“It is quite fortunate you sustained no permanent damage,” Frey said, letting out an inward sigh of relief and lightly stroking Sol’s head. “We’ll rest for another day but then we really have to leave.”

At that, Sol seemed to relax a little, wrapping his arms around Frey’s waist tightly and pressing his face into the pale skin.

“Mm... Back to sleep, then.”

Eventually they were able to continue on their way - Frey found that during the day their interactions and conversations were fairly similar to how they were before, although Frey was undoubtedly more affectionate with Sol. He was even more caring and attentive to his needs, which pleased Sol greatly. At night, or whenever Sol had a mental break and was losing the battle in his head, Frey would hold him until he calmed down. Sometimes their joining was fast and explosive, like the strike of a match. Other times Sol couldn’t relax until it was nearly dawn, unable to find peace unless he was worn out to the point of being unable to move or think. Frey always ensured that Sol fell asleep and woke up in his arms, as if to prove to him that he wouldn’t leave.

But despite Frey’s clear devotion, Sol grew more and more restless. He didn’t understand - he had everything he wanted in Frey, losing himself in the throes of passion every night, being filled by Frey’s affection until he could bear it no longer. And yet, the emptiness remained. His dependency on Frey grew worse and worse, never able to get enough, like he was a cracked glass that was leaking faster than it was being filled. All the while, only one thought prevailed in his mind:  _ You forced him to be with you - a false relationship built on lies is perfect for someone who  _ is  _ a lie. _

Continuing to suppress his inner demons, Sol finally reached the place of his reckoning. Since Frey relented anytime he complained about being tired, it took them five more days to return to the capital. Thankfully, the remainder of their trip was without any major incidents, but they were horribly behind schedule. Frey was slightly worried about his tardiness in returning to Lorelai, but for the moment he placed Sol’s needs above all else.

“So this is Lorelai, huh?” Sol whistled appreciatively, looking up at the multi-tiered fortress topped with an imposing and grand castle. “Looks like a cake.”

They carefully guided their horses through the winding streets, leisurely making their way up. It was still the middle of winter so less people were out and about, but those who spotted them would bow their heads in respect to Frey or call out to him cheerfully, if they were more bold.

“Someone’s popular,” Sol muttered under his breath.

_ See? Look at all these people who rely on Frey to protect them. All their lives are in his hands. What makes you think now that he’s back home, he’ll still have time for a piece of trash like you? _

Sol exhaled slowly, concentrating on ignoring the dark thoughts that continued to creep into his subconscious. To his dismay, the negative feelings had only increased in frequency, accumulating in his mind like weeds. For every one he tried to pluck, three more cropped up in its place.

Frey merely raised an eyebrow at his companion’s comment, shaking his head but frowning slightly. Since the night Sol had been kidnapped by Cristoff, Frey had been closely monitoring his moods. He was relieved to see him acting generally how he had when they first met, but more often than not caught Sol with a grim look on his face and his knuckles white from clenching his fists painfully. Unaware of the truth behind Sol’s internal struggle, he assumed the impending meeting with Kyro was primarily what weighed heavily upon his mind.

Their arrival - technically, Frey’s arrival with an unknown guest in tow - had long since reached the ears of the castle so the gates were open and waiting for them. Frey was well received by the castle guards as he dismounted, passing Bella’s reins over to the capable castle stablehands. He helped Sol down from his horse before instructing the attendants to take their belongings to the guest rooms.

Frey wanted to meet with Tristan alone first, for once requiring the young king’s council instead of the other way around, but didn’t want to leave Sol by himself. He was also incredibly vexed by how to one, broach the subject in general and two, explain their relationship. Frey didn’t want to lie nor did he want to make anyone uncomfortable. But the worst thing he wanted to avoid was making Sol believe he was someone to be ashamed of or hidden. It was actually quite the contrary, but given Frey’s uncertainty about how the other really felt about him coupled with the fact that Kyro almost certainly would not take well to any kind of relationship between the two, Frey was stumped and at his wit’s end. The issue had perplexed him the whole way back to Lorelai and he felt no closer to the right answer.

When it came down to it, Frey didn’t even know how he would honestly describe their relationship. Sol wasn’t a prostitute anymore - not that Frey would ever actually pay for such services in the first place - and technically speaking,  _ he  _ was really the one at Sol’s beck and call. He felt the makings of a migraine whenever he tried to rationalize the bond between them, rubbing his temples to ease the pain. Frey decided he was simply someone who cared about Sol’s wellbeing and was doing everything in his power to help him through an exceptionally rough and traumatic time. For now, that was enough.

“General Blackwood?” Cytus’s voice pulled Frey from his internal musings.

“I apologize, Cytus, you were saying?” Frey sighed, unaware that they had walked all the way to the castle’s foyer to be greeted by the head attendant.

“He said the Kings will meet us shortly and that someone named Piri will take us to the private meeting room to wait,” Sol parrotted.

“Thank you, Sol,” Frey mumbled, absentmindedly petting his head, causing the him to beam brilliantly. “It’s been such a long journey, Cytus, I really need some time to decompress.”

“Of course, General,” Cytus said respectfully, refraining from commenting on the odd behavior he had just witnessed. “I wish you well, sir, and a pleasant stay in Lorelai to the young Ambassador.” Cytus bowed curtly and whisked himself away to complete his other tasks.

“Ambassador?” Frey looked at Sol in surprise.

“Shit, you’re really out of it, aren’t you?” Sol said, tilting his head to the side and looking up at Frey, frantically waving a hand in front of his face. “He asked who I was, and you weren’t really paying attention, so I just told him I was an Ambassador from Rien.”

“I’m so sorry, Sol,” he said wearily, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Sol’s ear. “I just...have a lot on my mind right now.”

“I understand,” Sol chirped, plastering a smile on his face.

_ Clearly he’s busy thinking of all the ways to get rid of you. You didn’t really think you could monopolize him forever, right? _

The corner of Sol’s mouth twitched minutely, gritting his teeth together to hold it up.

“General Blackwood!”

A female voice called out as the rustle of skirts got closer. A girl probably around Sol’s own age stopped right before them, out of breath and coughing lightly.

“Welcome back,” she managed to say after collecting herself for a few moments.

“Thank you, Miss Strell. I am glad to see you are in good health,” Frey responded calmly.

Piri grinned, then turned to Sol and squealed.

“Are you from Rien?” she gasped, green eyes sparkling. “You look just like Kyro-I mean, His Majesty King Renton!” Piri clasped her hands together in excitement upon seeing Frey’s mysterious guest.

“Yes I am,” Sol said confidently. “Sol, most definitely a legitimate Ambassador from Rien, at your service.” He gave a dramatic bow with a deep flourish, causing Frey to shake his head and cover his face with one hand, although he was secretly concealing a small smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador Sol,” Piri giggled, curtseying daintily. “Their Majesties are finishing up some prior business with the Grand Council but I’ll take you to the meeting room first.”

Piri led them through the numerous white stoned corridors of the castle, chattering happily as they walked.

“It’s so good to have you back, General Blackwood, we really weren’t expecting you for a few more weeks. Oh! But I’m sure His Majesty called you back for  _ that  _ reason, it’s just so exciting I could cry!” Piri wiped a tear from her eye, acting even more over the moon than usual. “Plus you brought a Rien Ambassador with you, it’s almost too perfect!” She was practically bouncing in elation by the time they reached the sitting room.

Frey knew Piri fairly well as far as palance servants went, for she was one of the few maids to have served Tristan consistently for many years. He had, however, never seen her as worked up as she was now, which was saying quite a lot.

Piri left them in the cozy sitting room that was already well equipped with comfortable chairs and a table full of refreshments and drinks, running off as fast as she had appeared. Frey lowered himself into one of the chairs after pouring himself a small glass of wine, hoping to ease his nerves for the oncoming fight that was bound to break out.

“That girl hasn’t changed at all,” he mused aloud, taking a sip of the sweet wine. “No, that’s not right,” he frowned. “She’s definitely gotten louder over the years.” Frey shook his head with a smile, relieved that the austere and draconian atmosphere of the castle had lifted since Tristan became king. The people who walked the halls seemed genuinely happy to be there, compared to when they were cowed under Darius’s cruel rule.

_ She’s pretty, too _ , Sol immediately thought with venom. Feeling hateful jealousy rising within him, Sol pettily climbed into Frey’s lap and buried his face in the other’s neck, wanting to be spoiled. Familiar with Sol’s mood swings, Frey set the glass down and gently stroked his head, tenderly kissing the small mole by his eye that he was privately quite fond of. Sol’s eyes shone like the rising sun as he purred in satisfaction, although what he really wanted was to take Frey to bed and be ravished by him.

_ No one but me _ , he thought darkly, clinging to Frey even tighter.  _ I would rather see him cold and lifeless than with another. _

Sol continued to be pampered by Frey’s attention when there was a quiet knock at the double doors. He jumped out of Frey’s lap, heart thundering in his chest. Sol suddenly realized things were happening too quickly and his fight or flight instincts kicked in, eyes frantically darting around the room to see where he could escape to. Frey, noticing Sol’s distress, placed a comforting hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles.

“Just breathe,” he said calmly as the door opened.

A beautiful young man swept into the room as the door he entered through swung shut behind him, radiant in a stately white suit with gold trimming. His long, platinum blonde hair was neatly braided and tossed over his shoulder, loose wisps of gold framing his delicate and angelic face. His eyes were a stunning shade of lavender, large and round like pearls yet still captivating and charismatic. Sol, having always been extremely confident in his looks, couldn’t believe such a gorgeous person existed. The man’s face broke into a luminous smile when he saw Frey, quickly closing the gap between them and hugging him intimately.

“Frey, welcome home, it’s so good to see you again,” he said in a voice that was as smooth and sweet as honey.

“I can hardly stay away if Your Majesty specifically calls me back,” Frey said, looking down at Tristan with warmth in his eyes. “I only apologize for taking so long.”

Tristan scowled and smacked him in the shoulder before laughing lightly. As they separated, he caught Sol standing awkwardly off to the side in the corner of his vision, looking away with a complex expression on his face.

“This is?” Tristan asked, his mouth open in bewilderment. He couldn’t believe his eyes, which were wide open in shock. All he could do for several moments was gawk, only remembering to politely raise a hand to cover his mouth after the fact. The tall man before him was clearly a native of Rien, possessing several features that not only said as much, but bore a striking resemblance to his fiance. The unique golden eyes and dark hair to the arrow straight nose and cut of his jaw astounded him - it was like he was looking at a younger Kyro, but with softer edges and a more feminine touch.

“Yes, all I mentioned in my letter was that I was bringing someone important from Rien with me, but as you can see for yourself, I rather think he might be a relative of Kyro’s. Although, there is one complication to the situation,” Frey said.

Tristan mumbled incoherently to himself as he stepped closer to Sol, causing him to anxiously shy away. The young king held out his hand and gave Sol a kind smile.

“My name is Tristan, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

Sol stiffly shook Tristan’s hand and eyed him warily, like prey that had been cornered.

“Likewise, Your Majesty,” he said flatly.

“Please, just call me Tristan. Anyone related to Kyro - well,” he stopped mid-sentence and blushed furiously, looking all the more charming.

“Speaking of, where is he?” Frey asked. There was a trace of nervousness in his voice and he suddenly wanted to hide Sol in his pocket and run far away.

“I sent him to fetch some drinks that were more appropriate for the occasion-” Tristan was cut off by a loud bang as the doors flew open without warning.

An assertive presence stormed into the room, grinning roguishly and holding two ornate glass bottles aloft, one in each hand. He was wearing a casual white shirt, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, along with plain, dark trousers. A thin leather cord could be seen around his neck, disappearing under his shirt.

Frey hadn’t seen Kyro in several years, but aside from dressing as he did when he was only known as the crown prince’s consort and retaining the same ridiculous hairstyle, looked surprisingly different. He could tell that Kyro had matured and filled out robustly, no longer just aspiring to be, but now an impressive man in his own right. Despite dressing simply, he exuded an imposing aura and commanded everyone’s attention.

“Frey, you old dog, it’s your lucky day because I got the most expensive spirits to celebrate Tris and my engageme-”

The silence of Kyro’s sudden arrival and his halted words was broken by two sharp crashes. The bottles he held fell to the ground, smashing into hundreds of refractive pieces and spilling ruby liquid all over the stone floor.

“Kyro!” Tristan said in surprise, eyes jumping between him and the mess on the floor.

Kyro wordlessly took a few steps forward, amber eyes focused only on the ghost who stood before him.  _ It can’t be _ , he thought, breath stuck in his throat. He reached out tentatively with his aura and after just brushing the other’s, nearly recoiled in shock. He verified the truth himself, for he  _ never  _ forgot an aura he had come into contact with even once, especially when that someone happened to be his family.

He stopped just in front of Sol, who was trembling slightly under the pressure of Kyro’s intense gaze. Sol was paralyzed, fear gripping his heart, appearing like a deer who was face to face with its natural predator.

Nobody spoke or even dared to move as Kyro slowly raised his hands to gently cup Sol’s face. He shivered imperceptibly at the foreign touch, forgetting how to breathe. Tears rolled down Kyro’s cheeks as he pulled Sol into his arms, hugging him tightly, as if to ascertain that he was indeed solid and not just a figment of his imagination.

“Luka,” he cried, crushing Sol in his embrace. “How- I can’t believe- Look at you!” Kyro stammered in between sobs. He drew back, hands still clutching Sol’s shoulders, wanting to examine him once more. “You’ve grown so tall and handsome, just like Father, but you always had our mother’s beauty. You weren’t even sixteen when I last saw you, and now here you are, almost a young man of nineteen.” Kyro wept, his eyes misty with all the memories of when his family was still alive, now dyed in melancholy and pain. “I don’t understand,” he said, choked up with emotion. “How is this even possible?” He looked at the other two who stood like statues, expecting some kind of explanation.

“I encountered him in Mistfall on my way back to the capital,” Frey began quietly, feeling the air pressure surging, as if it were the calm before the storm. “I obviously noticed the resemblance and asked him to come back with me, since Tristan had sent word that you had returned.”

“Frey,” Kyro said, locking eyes with the general. “I cannot repay you for this in my entire lifetime. Thank you.” His sincerity and gratitude was palpable; if he weren’t stuck to Sol, Kyro probably would have kissed his once sworn rival. He turned his attention back to his younger brother, lovingly stroking his hair and tucking that one perpetually unruly lock behind his ear. He suddenly frowned, noticing the empty metal ring on his choker.

“Where is your soulstone?” he asked, brows furrowing. “Talk to me, tell me everything.”

Feeling finally began to return to Sol’s body as he was confronted by his older brother, trying his best not to shrink back from the unfamiliar man’s intimacy. He struggled several times to open his mouth, unsure of what to say, when Frey cut in.

“As I said to Tristan before you got here, there is a...complication.” Frey took a deep breath before continuing, honestly terrified of how Kyro was going to react. “Sol, which is what...Luka goes by now, lost all his memories from before the attack on Rien and what happened that night.”

A brutal silence once again filled the room as Kyro’s face froze, staring at the young man who was supposed to be his only remaining family left. An uncomfortable smile appeared on his face as he began to laugh awkwardly, unnerving the others who were present.

“That’s-that’s supposed to be a joke, right?” he said, eyes jumping between each of them. “Ha ha, very funny, you guys.” Panic began to bloom in his heart when no one made a sound, Tristan being the only one to meet his gaze with a sad look in his eyes.

“Luka, please,” he begged, turning back to Sol, focusing on him with the heat of a raging firestorm. “Say something,  _ anything _ .”

“I’m sorry..." Sol could only apologize weakly, unable to meet Kyro’s eyes as moisture appeared in his own.

Kyro made a heart breaking sound as he hung his head and closed his eyes, teardrops staining the cold stone below. Everyone remained motionless as he quietly grieved, still clinging onto Sol’s shoulders when he suddenly fell silent. Frey felt a dangerous spike in Kyro’s aura, which suddenly became tainted with rage and fury. His aura filled the room, permeating every empty space it could expand to. Tristan was unfazed, naturally protected from Kyro’s wrath, but Frey was surprised to feel sluggish and an uncomfortable pressure bearing down on him - just a few years ago at the King’s Tourney, Kyro’s aura couldn’t affect him at all. Frey shuddered at his growth but quickly began to worry for Sol.

Sol gasped under the immensity of Kyro’s aura, feeling like he was being suffocated from the outside in. He struggled to draw breath, clawing at his throat and filling with visceral fear.

“ _ What did you do? _ ” Kyro said, his voice dangerously quiet but sharp enough to draw blood.

“Kyro!” Tristan said in alarm, not understanding what was happening.

Frey growled in warning, one second from launching Kyro halfway across the room.

“I-I don’t...know what...you mean,” Sol coughed, starting to feel light headed from the lack of oxygen to his brain.

“ _ How could you erase your own memories? _ ” Kyro roared, fingers digging into Sol’s flesh.

Tristan and Frey’s faces were frozen in shock at Kyro’s words.

“What are you saying?” Tristan hurriedly asked.

Kyro ignored answering Tristan directly and continued to address Sol.

“Did you conveniently forget that your aura ability is memory manipulation?” he seethed. “What about the time you were sick for two weeks and wouldn’t refuse to eat anything unless Mother fed you every bite with her own hands? Or whenever Father caught you climbing the mountain for the hundredth time, despite being specifically told not to? Ursa’s birth?  _ Any of it? _ ” Kyro shook Sol roughly, fresh tears streaking down his already wet cheeks.

“What about Zion?” Kyro’s voice once again dropped to a deadly whisper. “ _ Did you forget about your own twin brother? _ ”

Sol felt like his head was going to explode, either from the pressure of Kyro’s aura or from the torrent of painful questions being hurled at him. Each one dug into him like a knife that was being mercilessly twisted. Unable to respond, he simply shook his head, sobbing quietly.

“ _ How dare you! _ ” Kyro yelled.

Frey could no longer stand on the sidelines and inserted himself between the two, forcing Kyro backwards as his aura was slowly reined in.

“Enough,” he said, tone threatening a fierce battle if Kyro didn’t stand down.

“Stay out of this, Frey,” Kyro warned.

Sol had shrunk behind Frey, massaging his throat as he was finally able to breathe properly again.

“You can’t hide the evidence from me,” Kyro said, talking over Frey’s shoulder. “I can see the gaping holes you must have carved out. But I guess you wouldn’t know I can see that, huh?” Kyro’s face was twisted into a bitter grimace as he continued to verbally assault Sol. “There’s barely anything left of you, I’m surprised you can even function,” he sneered. “You’re nothing, do you hear me?  _ Nothing _ .”

Sol began to shake uncontrollably, wrapping his arms around himself defensively.

_ I know. _

_ I know. _

_ I know- I know- I know- I know- _

“Sol!” Frey shouted, holding his face tenderly. Sol’s skin was damp with sweat and the color was draining from his eyes. He lifted the catatonic body into his arms and glared daggers at Kyro. “You’re a disgrace,” he said icily.

“Get out,” Kryo said quietly before repeating it a second time. “ _ Get out! _ ” His voice carried enough force to shake the entire castle, but Frey didn’t need to be told twice.

Frey glowered at Tristan, who had one hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his sobs, eyes full of tears, before pushing past him toward the doors. His look wordlessly conveyed the message ‘if he comes for Sol again, I will not hesitate to hurt him.’ As he exited the room with Sol in tow, Frey could hear the sound of glass and ceramic breaking as Kyro swept the contents of the table to the ground in anger, releasing a gut-wrenching scream.

***

Frey laid Sol down gently on the bed in the guest room that had been prepared for him, trying to get the other to respond. He kissed him and called his name endlessly, hot teardrops falling onto Sol’s skin like rain.

  
“Please,” he cried. “Come back to me, Sol.” Frey held him tightly, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. “Sol, wake up. Don’t leave me, Sol. Sol.  _ Sol! _ ” Sobs racked his body, causing him to release pained sounds he didn’t know he was even capable of making. Frey had never felt despair as deep as he did then, feeling like his heart was being sliced in half and ripped out of his chest. He buried his face in Sol’s neck and whispered, “I need  _ you _ .”


	7. Chapter 7

Sol felt like he couldn’t breathe, as if Kyro’s aura was still swirling around him. He couldn’t feel anything other than a sharp pain, darkness blinding him.

_ Of course he doesn’t want you. You’re not “him.” You’re not  _ Luka _. _

“Shut up.”

_ And he’s right, you know. You  _ are  _ nothing. You will  _ never  _ be anything to anyone. _

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Sol screamed at his own subconscious, tearing at his hair and clawing at his arms, leaving bloody scratches.

“You’re wrong, I am Jude and Mila’s grandson,” he countered.

_ Adoptive, and probably already forgotten. Next. _

“Re-regardless of whether or not I have my memories, I am still Kyro’s brother.”

A shrill laughter pierced his ears - surrounding him, filling him, coming from inside of him.

_ You are  _ so  _ fucking stupid and naive. After that amazing display of revulsion, do you think he will ever look at you again? Pathetic. _

Sol wept profusely, curling himself into a tight ball.

“I... Frey..."

_ Oh, yes. Frey. How  _ do  _ you think he truly feels about you, hm? _

“He... He cares for me, I’m sure he does.”

More laughter.

_ No,  _ you’re _ wrong. Who could care for a nothing like you? You, who imposed your sick desires upon him, forcing Frey to chain himself to filth like you. _

“N-no, I-”

_ You twisted him around your finger, acting all innocent and defenseless when you were the real threat all along. Admit it, the world would be better off without you.  _ Frey  _ would be better off without you. _

Sol felt like he was shattering to pieces, drifting into an endless void one piece at a time. He desperately tried to keep himself together, but couldn’t stop the disintegration of his mind. He cried and cried until his lungs hurt, unsure if he even had lungs anymore. All he wanted was to hear Frey’s voice one last time.

_ Sol. _

Frey’s comforting voice rang in his head. He knew his subconscious was playing a cruel trick on him, but succumbed to the euphoria of hearing Frey call his name, even if it was fake.

“Frey!” he sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so, sorry.”

_ Come back to me, Sol. _

“I-I can’t, it’s better if I disappear. Better for everyone. Better for you.”

_ Sol, wake up. Don’t leave me. _

“Please,” Sol begged. “Just let me go.” He couldn’t take the pain anymore, feeling like what was left of his consciousness was being unraveled and shredded.

_ I need  _ you _. _

Only a small fraction of himself remained, but it could still recognize those three words, and it was enough. The last wisps of his awareness began to resonate and grow, drawing the scattered fragments back into one.

“I am  _ not  _ nothing,” he declared, beating back the darkness that had nearly consumed him completely. “I am Sol. And I am  _ wanted _ .”

Wrapped in the protective warmth of Frey’s arms, Sol opened his eyes.

“F-Frey,” he cried weakly, trying to bring his trembling hands up to Frey’s face.

“Sol!” Frey felt like he had received the blessings of a hundred lifetimes when he saw Sol looking up at him.

“I don’t want to disappear,” he sobbed, burrowing against Frey’s shoulder.

“You won’t,” Frey said firmly. “I won’t let that happen.”

He held Sol tightly in his arms until his body went numb from remaining stationary. The shaking eventually stopped as Sol fell into a deep sleep. Frey didn’t understand exactly what was happening to the youth, but he knew he was deteriorating at an alarming rate. He seemed to be fighting against something - or  _ someone  _ \- inside of him, but how could he protect Sol from himself?

Frey had barely slept when the first rays of dawn appeared through the cracks in the thick curtains that hung over the windows. He was relieved that Sol slept through the night, gently stroking the side of his face. Frey delicately slid out of the bed, careful to not disturb a single hair on Sol’s head.

He headed up two floors to the king’s suite, standing motionless outside Tristan’s door for several moments. Just when he was about to knock, the door swung open.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Tristan stood in the doorway, mild surprise on his face when he saw Frey looming before him.

Frey nodded, weary and at a loss for words.

“Let’s walk.” Tristan gave him a comforting look as they wandered through the dormant castle.

“How is he?”

“Still breathing, no thanks to your wretched fiance,” Frey said coldly, the corners of his lips turned down. “His mental state seems to be declining and I don’t know how to stop it.”

There was a sharp undertone of pain and desperation in Frey’s voice, much to Tristan’s surprise.  _ He’s changed _ , he thought with a small smile.

“You care for him,” Tristan said.

Frey didn’t respond, only continuing to look ahead stoically. As much as the young king wanted to tease his friend, there was a time and place for everything, so Tristan refrained from making any more comments on the matter.

“Can’t...Kyro just fix him?” Frey said after a while.

“I asked him that last night, and unfortunately the answer is no. Kyro said that even with my help, he can’t replace what isn’t there.”

Frey contemplated Tristan’s words, his face a smooth mask that betrayed no emotion. He was coming to the conclusion that the best thing for Sol’s health was to retrieve his memories, but Sol himself seemed adamantly against it, not making any sense as he constantly talked about how he didn’t want to disappear.

They had eventually made their way to one of the open air courtyards, a frigid breeze ruffling their hair. Although there was no snow on the ground, a thick layer of frost encased the barren plants and withered trees.

“What do you think will happen if we leave him as he is?” Frey questioned.

“He will die.”

A sharp voice from behind caused them to turn around in surprise.

“You...” Frey was taken aback at Kyro’s haggard appearance, wearing the same clothes from the night before and bearing deep bags under his eyes. He clutched a few books tightly in one hand, knuckles white.

“He stayed up all night in the library,” Tristan whispered to Frey off to the side.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you two of the importance of aural strength in relation to physical and mental wellbeing,” Kyro continued.

Frey nodded, recalling the terrible details of Tristan’s run-in with the dream eater. Kyro let out a pained sigh before taking a deep breath, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Three years ago to date, Luka was only fifteen. He had been training his ability for just a couple years, and at best was able to make someone temporarily forget something, like what they had for breakfast the other day, or slightly alter a memory. And even then if they thought hard enough or were given hints, could remember on their own.” Kyro began to pace in circles, his mind agitated and spinning endlessly.

“So for him to have somewhat permanently erased fifteen years of his life, did not come without a cost. When I checked his aura, I wasn’t exaggerating. It looked like he was ravaged by a wild beast, scarred by deep gouges and huge chunks just...gone. The worst factor is, the holes are getting actively bigger. It honestly is a miracle he survived this long.” Kyro shook his head, biting down on his lip to hold back tears. “He’s falling apart and if nothing changes, Luka will die.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Tristan asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Kyro’s voice broke as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “In one of the specialty books I consulted, there are records of people being able to lock memories within aura. If that’s what Luka did, hiding his memories inside his own aura then viciously ripping those parts out...but he must have put it  _ somewhere _ . Aura can’t be contained by anything other than-”

“Soulstone.”

Frey suddenly spoke up, causing Kyro and Tristan to turn toward him.

“The other day you asked him where his soulstone was. I’m guessing he normally wears it on his choker?”

Kyro’s eyes grew wide as he nodded.

“Yes...if he stored his memories inside his soulstone, there’s a chance we can save him...” Kyro’s voice trailed off as hope began to swell in his heart.

Frey exhaled sharply, curses on his tongue and the desire to punch a hole in the stone wall growing.

“I wouldn’t celebrate just yet,” he said tersely. “When I initially met Sol, he already wasn’t wearing it. Our best case scenario is that he kept it somewhere in his room back in Mistfall. The only other known place it could be is near where he was originally found. Otherwise, we would have to assume he lost or sold it. That’s the first worst case scenario.”

“First? What could possibly be worse than that?” Kyro retorted.

“The second is that even if we do find it, we’re too late.”

A dark expression passed over Kyro’s face.  _ I can’t believe I thought for even one second that I didn’t hate this guy _ , he said to himself bitterly.

“And the third-”

Frey paused when Kyro whirled at him, a murderous look in his eyes, as if daring him to go on.

“...the last is if Sol doesn’t want to recover his memories at all.”

“What are you talking about, why wouldn’t he?” Kyro scoffed.

“I don’t recall you leaving a particularly good impression on him,” Frey snapped, not bothering to hide the venom in his tone.

“I...I know I lost my temper, alright? I’ll make it up to him. But he can’t seriously  _ want  _ to die. That’s ridiculous.”

Frey’s mouth drew into a tight line as he contemplated his next words. He didn’t want to publicize Sol’s insecurities, but he valued the other’s life too much to remain silent.

“I believe Sol’s memory loss caused him to create an alternate persona that he’s lived as these past three years. He views himself as a separate entity from Luka, and thinks that if he recovers his memories the current ‘him’ will disappear. I never asked him about it, but sometimes I would hear him talking to himself, especially when he was asleep. He could feel threatened to the point where he would rather die and destroy them both.”

Kyro and Tristan were silent for a long time, digesting the information. The winter wind had chilled them all to the bone from being exposed to the elements, and a shiver ran down Tristan’s spine.

“Then we don’t even give him the option to refuse,” Kyro said sharply. “As long as we find the soulstone, I can force his aura back into him.”

Frey shot Kyro a withering look.

“He is his own person,” he said pointedly, recalling his own mistakes and presumptions about what was best for Sol.

“I can’t just sit back and watch my brother die!” Kyro shouted, tears of frustration and grief welling in his eyes. “I failed my family once before and I refuse to let it happen a second time. You’re either with me or against me, Frey.”

“At least let me talk to him first,” Frey said after a while.

“What does it even matter to you?” Kyro said in exasperation. “I truly appreciate you bringing Luka to me, but quite frankly, this doesn’t concern you anymore.”

Frey had no words. He figured there was no reality in which telling Kyro the truth would end in anything but a war neither of them had time for.

“I don’t owe you any explanation,” Frey said curtly before turning to leave. He hoped Sol hadn’t woken up yet, fearing he had been away for too long.

“You-” Kyro was about to curse him out when Tristan held him back, shaking his head.

“He has his reasons, Kyro,” he said gently, holding his cheek and wiping away the frozen tears. “But trust that Frey cares about him just as much as you do.”

Kyro sighed and pulled Tristan into his arms, kissing the crown of his head.

“You know I have to go, right, Tris?”

“I know, you’re the only one who can effectively track anything with his aura.” Tristan nodded sadly, savoring the warmth from Kyro’s chest. “I’ll miss you every second you’re gone.”

“I’m sure we’ll be back before you know it. And once all of this is handled and Luka is himself again, we’ll have the commitment ceremony as planned. Frey will be your witness and Luka will be mine. Everything will be perfect.” Kyro stroked Tristan’s hair, desperately praying that his words would soon become the truth.

***

When Frey returned to Sol’s room, he was relieved to see him still sleeping. He quickly changed his clothes to rid himself of the cold so as to not shock Sol awake before climbing back into the bed. Frey resumed his usual position, tucking Sol into his arms and tried to get a little sleep.

It was around late morning when he roused again, Sol also beginning to wake but refusing to let go of Frey.

“You should get up and eat something,” Frey said, worried about Sol’s health.

“Hmm, how about you?” Sol murmured sleepily, leaning up to kiss Frey.

Frey couldn’t help but laugh at Sol’s capriciousness, pinching his bare thigh which elicited a sharp yelp. Sol shot a dirty look at him, now very much awake, and trudged off to the bathroom spewing a string of curses. Frey watched him go with fondness in his heart but his thoughts remained turbulent. Frey had no idea what the best course of action was, but he had to talk to Sol, for Kyro was probably already plotting out their route. The question was, what exactly was safe to say? Although Frey never wanted to hurt Sol, he was scared he would accidentally say the wrong thing and make matters worse.

Sol returned to the room with a towel in hand, wearing only a shirt that was slightly too big for him. His hair left a trail of water droplets as he walked.

“Is that my shirt?” Frey said, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” Sol said playfully. “I like it.”

“Then you can have it,” Frey said immediately.

“I like it  _ because  _ it’s yours,” Sol scowled, sticking out his tongue.

Frey chuckled and made a beckoning motion to Sol, who eventually complied after acting indignant for a few moments. Frey took the towel and began to carefully dry Sol’s hair. Sol sat comfortably in Frey’s lap, always in the best mood when he was being spoiled rotten. After completing the job satisfactorily, Frey drew his arms around him and put his head on Sol’s shoulder, hugging him tightly from behind.

“Sol, do you trust me?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.”

“Do you like me?”

“Of course.” He turned his head to the side and planted a kiss on Frey’s cheek.

“Do you want to be with me forever?”

Sol rotated himself until he was facing Frey, leaning forward to kiss him deeply.

“More than anything in the world,” he breathed.

Frey’s heart tightened as he willed himself to be strong, looking straight into Sol’s luminous eyes.

“What if...the only way we could stay together was if you recovered your memories?”

Sol instantly tensed up, his face conveying hurt and confusion.

“I-I don’t understand, I thought you needed  _ me _ -”

“I do,” Frey said firmly, his eyes full of conviction. “Even if you got your memories back, it wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You don’t know that!” Sol said frantically, his racing heart beating like drums in his ears. “ _ I _ won’t be the same... I won’t even be  _ me! _ Why does everyone want  _ him  _ instead of me?  _ Am I not good enough? _ ”

Large tear drops rolled down Sol’s cheeks as he grabbed Frey’s collar and kissed him desperately, straddling him and trying to push him down.

_ No- No- No- No- Frey is  _ mine-  _ He belongs to  _ me-

“Sol!” Frey grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes like an ocean storm, now mirroring Sol’s tears. “You are dying,” he whispered, his hands trembling. “If you don’t get your memories back, you will die.”

Sol froze when he heard Frey’s words, feeling like his was the most pitiful and cursed existence in the world. He threw his head back and laughed, startling Frey. The image of Sol laughing hysterically while tears streamed down his face burned in Frey’s mind, causing him to feel just as much anguish and torment. He wished he could take away Sol’s suffering and pain, but things were never that easy.

_ Of course _ , Sol thought bitterly.  _ Even this body is rejecting me. I don’t deserve anything, do I? Everything belongs to  _ him.

“It’s not fair,” he sobbed, the hysteria draining all the energy from his body. He was so tired of fighting what seemed like an unwinnable battle. “Why is it that I can’t have the one thing I want?”

Frey tried to soothe him, holding him gently and stroking his head.

“You do,” he said quietly. “I am yours. I won’t leave you.”

Sol wrapped his arms around Frey’s torso, fingers digging possessively into his back.

“I don’t even know how to get them back,” he mumbled.

“Kyro figured everything out. But we need to find your soulstone. Do you know where it is?”

Sol shook his head, although even if he did know, he wasn’t sure he would have told him. He was completely unsurprised to hear that Kyro was the one behind things. A toxic mixture of fear and mania began to churn in his heart, poisoning the well of his thoughts. Sol wondered if Kyro wasn’t around, would Frey still be pushing for him to recover his memories? It wasn’t like he was going to drop dead the next day, right? Was this all just Kyro’s schemes to get his brother back? He suddenly grew calm, as if his earlier outburst had never happened.

“In that case, we’ll have to start by searching your home in Mistfall,” Frey said, wiping Sol’s face with his sleeve. “Will you come with us, please?”

Sol buried his face by Frey’s neck, pressing up against him as if they would melt together.

“On one condition,” he said quietly.

“Anything,” Frey said, feeling relief and elation flood his system. They were going to get his memories back - Sol was going to live.

“Promise me that no matter what happens, we’ll always be together?”

“I promise. In fact, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Frey kissed Sol’s forehead and hugged him tightly. He could begin to see the end of the nightmare and was sure that what awaited them was light. However, immediately a new concern bubbled up within him, as he realized it was still best to leave the announcement of their relationship for a later date.

“One more thing,” Frey said quickly. “Given how volatile his nature is, I don’t think it would be wise to flaunt our relationship in front of Kyro. It would be best if we maintained a proper distance.”

Sol frowned, his fingers clawing into Frey’s shoulders.

“Fine,” he grumbled, unease coiling tightly within him. Pushing Frey onto his back he whispered, “Then I’ll just have to get my fill before we leave.”


	8. Chapter 8

Once Kyro heard that Sol agreed to recover his memories, he wasted no time in finalizing the preparations for their trip. Frey had been home for all of three days before he was heading out again.

“I still don’t get why you’re coming,” Kyro muttered. “I can handle everything on my own.”

Frey continued to ignore Kyro’s complaints, knowing that there would be plenty of time to argue after the matter at hand was dealt with. Although Sol agreed to hide the truth of their relationship, he pouted a great deal and acted even more petulantly than normal. Frey’s forced restraint only encouraged him to cling more than ever.

This worked out perfectly for Sol, as he got to stay as far away from Kyro as possible, given the wide berth the two men gave each other. The King of Rien still frightened him, and quite frankly, Sol wanted to have nothing to do with his so-called older brother.

The mismatched trio rode out of the city at dawn on loaned horses, planning to swap them out at each leg of their trip in favor of speed, nearly retracing the exact path Frey and Sol had taken to get there in the first place. However, they weren’t traveling at the leisurely pace Sol had previously imposed, so it took them a solid four days of disciplined riding to return to Mistfall. Sol couldn’t wait to eat Mila’s cooking again while listening to Jude’s terrible jokes, surprised at how homesick he was. Despite what his inner voice tried to tell him, he was looking forward to seeing them and was confident they missed him as well.

Standing outside the inn, Kyro could definitely sense traces of Sol’s aura all over the building. However, he didn’t feel anything close to as powerful to what he was looking for. Kyro sighed, writing their first stop off as a failure. He made eye contact with Frey and shook his head. Frey frowned, understanding that it only meant their quest had become significantly harder. The two men followed Sol into the inn, mentally planning their next step.

“Gramps, Gran! I’m home,” Sol called out to his adoptive grandparents as he entered, spotting them immediately at the bar.

“Sol!” Mila cried, a bewildered but delighted smile appearing on her face.

Sol tossed his bag on the counter and ran behind to hug them. It had been about two weeks since he had seen them but somehow, after everything that had happened, it felt like an eternity. Surrounded by Mila and Jude’s familiar warmth, Sol fought back tears. Although he had already shed more than his fair share of them, being back where he was most comfortable made him feel exceptionally vulnerable.

“Why didn’t you write? We had no idea you’d be coming back so soon,” Mila chided.

“Sorry Gran,” he said with a guilty smile. “It was kind of a last minute thing, and we’re only just passing through.”

Frey and Kyro made their way to the counter slowly, giving Sol a moment of privacy with his guardians.

“General!” Jude said with a grin, clapping Frey on the shoulder. “Welcome back!”

“It’s good to see you, Jude,” Frey said amicably.

“And who’s this strapping young man!”

Kyro approached the bar and bowed respectfully to the older couple.

“I am Luka’s older brother, Kyro. Thank you for taking such good care of him these past few years.”

Jude and Mila were breath taken by how similar the two brothers were, understanding immediately how Frey must have felt when he first saw Sol.

“We’re just glad that Sol has someone other than us, y’know? We’re no spring chickens, eh!” Jude laughed, giving Kyro a hearty smack on the back.

“Hush, Jude. You boys must be hungry, I’ll go whip something up.” Mila disappeared into the kitchen as her husband grinned sheepishly.

“You all just in town for one night?” Jude asked.

“Yes, although we’re actually here in search of something,” Frey said. “When you first found Sol, did he have some kind of stone or pendant, perhaps attached to his choker?”

Kyro pulled a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket, placing it on the counter. It was a crude drawing of some sorts, depicting a jagged shape with a curl on the bottom.

“It would look something like this,” he said.

Jude scratched his chin, trying to think back three years in his mind.

“Can’t say that he did, and I’ve never seen anythin’ like that before,” Jude responded while shaking his head. “That some kinda family heirloom?”

“Something like that,” Sol muttered under his breath.

“Well all your stuff is in your room, just as you left it. So I reckon if you have it, it’ll be in that mess somewhere.”

Sol nodded, thinking that he really didn’t recall seeing anything like the stone Kyro had drawn, although to be fair, it was a terrible drawing. Mila returned with steaming bowls of stew and a platter of fresh bread. The three of them easily consumed all the food, famished from their tedious journey.

“You’re lucky it’s the quiet season, you two will experience the finest suites Eden has to offer! Although I guess it won’t be that novel of an experience for the General,” Jude chuckled. “If you like, the dahlia suite is currently available.”

“In that case, Frey can stay with me. No point in preparing one of the suites for him and making extra work for yourselves,” Sol said quickly. “I’ll go clean my room.” He ran up the stairs before anyone could say otherwise, leaving Kyro annoyed, Jude and Mila confused, and Frey amused.

“That child!” Mila huffed. “Been out into the world for only a couple weeks and thinks he can order his grandparents around?” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly before telling Frey, “Ignore the boy, you don’t have to indulge him and inconvenience yourself.”

“To be honest we experienced less than ideal lodging conditions before on our journey to Lorelai, so I can assure you it is no inconvenience at all,” he said while laughing lightly. “He’s a good grandson to want to cause less work for his elders.”

“That’s probably only because he thinks we’ll put him straight back to work!” Jude said with a hoot, causing Mila to smack her husband upside the head.

Kyro watched the three joke and banter, uncomfortable at constantly being reminded about how there was a Luka he knew nothing about. Plus, seeing Frey show any kind of emotion other than disdain, condescension, or disgust made his skin crawl. He coughed awkwardly and withdrew a rolled up map from his pack, looking to change the subject.

“I heard Luka was found near your brother’s farm, but do you think you could point out where?” he asked. “Even if it’s not exact, it would be incredibly helpful.”

The couple pondered over the map for a few moments, arguing about the validity of each other’s memory. They eventually agreed on one spot and marked it down.

“Thank you,” Kyro said. “You don’t know how important this is.”

“Well, we’re happy to be of assistance for our beloved grandson,” Jude said.

After about an hour of casual conversation, the patchwork family went their separate ways for the night. Kyro was shown to a room decorated with the theme of roses while Frey went up to the top floor to Sol’s room - which he had already technically spent a night in before. Frey knocked quietly then entered, only to be immediately rushed.

Sol quickly locked the door behind Frey, grabbing him by the collar and kissing him. Frey tossed his belongings to the ground and reversed their positions, pinning Sol against the door with his hips. His hands rested comfortably on Sol’s slim waist as they savored each other’s taste. The heat between them was fatal but inescapable, threatening to burn both of them to ashes, fated to drift together eternally in the wind. The intense kiss left them breathless and a low chuckle rumbled in Frey’s throat as he touched his forehead to Sol’s.

“I thought you don’t shit where you eat?” he teased, a wicked smirk on his face.

“I think I can make an exception,” Sol said. He licked his lips with desire, looking up at Frey through his long eyelashes.

Sol had just stepped out of the bath, leaving his hair damp and a sweet, floral smell on his body. He was wearing Frey’s favorite outfit for seduction, which only meant a large shirt. Frey eagerly ran his hands up Sol’s exposed thighs, cupping his supple backside and kneading firmly. Sol shuddered in anticipation, squirming beneath his scorching touch.

“I...already prepared myself,” Sol panted, face flushed and eyes unfocused. “I want you inside me...now.”

Immediately obeying Sol’s wishes, Frey growled in response and undid his pants, releasing his swollen member that was already leaking in arousal. He lifted Sol into the air and pushed deep inside him, not stopping until they were perfectly connected. Sol gasped as he felt Frey plunge inside of him, his mind reeling from the pleasure. He wrapped his legs tightly around Frey to ensure there was no distance between them, trembling with every thrust. He had to bite down on the back of his hand to stop himself from moaning too loudly, not wanting to draw any attention to themselves. 

Frey groaned as he pushed into the deepest part of Sol, the door behind him creaking dangerously from the pressure. Their physical intimacy had been disrupted for the past three days, so they were all too happy to catch up in one night. Sol’s back arched in a spasm as he felt Frey brush deep inside him, climax spurred on by the delicious friction of the fighter’s hardened abs. When he tightened around Frey, trembling in the aftershock, the other man chased his own pleasure, spilling hotly inside. Sol wrapped his arms around Frey’s neck and leaned forward to capture his lips, nipping at them playfully. Frey walked them over to the bed and gently tossed Sol down before removing the rest of his clothes. He entered him again - not done by a long shot - this time from behind, rhythmically rocking them back and forth. Sol felt like his insides were melting, an uncontrollable blaze igniting deep in his core. The sticky mess that dripped down the inside of his thigh was proof of their lust for each other and the amount of fluid that Sol accumulated on and in his body only increased as the night wore on.

When they were finally sated of their need for each other, Frey trapped Sol in his embrace and drifted off to sleep. One of the rare times where Frey was the first to fall asleep, Sol couldn’t help but obsessively watch him, fixated on every small detail of his face. He lightly traced Frey’s arched eyebrow with a finger, then the rising curve of his eye, moving down to his slightly parted lips that felt and looked like rose petals in full bloom. He ended by working his way around Frey’s angular jaw, leaning in to plant a hidden kiss.

Sol wanted moments such as these to last forever - he  _ needed  _ them to.  _ Please don’t take him from me _ , he thought, burrowing deeper into Frey’s arms. He repeated the same words over and over like a prayer or a spell, carving his determination and will into his heart. _ I’ll do anything, whatever it takes. I’ll do anything, whatever it takes. I’ll do  _ anything _. _

He woke the next morning to the feeling of too much space around him, suddenly sitting up in panic. His room was as it always had been, slightly messy but not overcrowded with possessions. The weak light of dawn filtered into the dim room, causing him to look around in confusion.  _ Why am I alone? _ His heart began to race, a spike of pain shooting through him. He was about to jump out of bed in alarm when the door to his small bathroom opened, hot steam flowing into the room.

“Oh, you’re already awake,” Frey said as he walked over and kissed the crown of his head. “I filled the bath for you, hurry and get in.”

As Frey moved to gather his discarded clothes from off the ground, Sol scrambled out of bed and hugged him tightly from behind. He pressed his face against Frey’s broad, muscled back and leeched the warmth from his bare skin. Frey could feel Sol’s heart thundering against him and turned to embrace him properly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up,” he murmured, kissing the side of his left eye tenderly.

Sol shook his head furiously, tickling Frey’s chest with his hair. He looked up at Frey with a contented smile and ran off to the bathroom. Frey’s heart was at ease, certain more peaceful mornings waking up with Sol were surely to come.

The three met downstairs, packed and ready to go. Frey and Kyro had resolute looks on their faces, determined to have a successful second half of the trip.

“Did you sleep well, Luka?” Kyro asked Sol, offering him a warm smile.

Sol returned one that didn’t reach his eyes, giving a monosyllabic grunt in response.

Kyro fought to maintain his composure, telling himself it was only a matter of time until Luka was back to his normal self. But it still stung every time he was snubbed by the eighteen year old, who was supposed to be his most precious family. However, that pain was tolerable compared to how he felt when he watched Luka chase Frey around like a puppy would its favorite toy. He was completely stumped as to why Luka was so attached to the irritating general and even more baffled as to why Frey always went along with his antics. He had never seen him so affectionate with anyone before, not even Tristan. He continued to miserably play third wheel to the two of them as their journey continued on.

Although Frey and Kyro wanted to head directly to the location Jude and Mila had identified without stopping, it was still a couple days away. Plus, the area of interest was primarily uninhabited and they didn’t want to get stranded in the middle of the mountains after nightfall. They ended up following the map until they reached a small town on the outskirts of the foothills, only about a half day’s ride away. The only lodging available was at a cheap hostel with communal rooms, renting space by the bed. The three shared a quiet meal together, Kyro once more trying to elicit conversation out of Sol, but to no avail. 

The closer they got to the mountains, the more on edge Sol was. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the monstrous brown peaks that pierced the sky looked more like an ominous graveyard, full of scattered, jagged tombstones, than what should have been the familiar backdrop of his childhood. It was painfully easy for Frey to tell that Sol was distressed, more so than usual, watching him sit unnaturally still at the small table they were seated around, staring at nothing with his hands in his lap. He inconspicuously moved his hand under the table to hold Sol’s, giving a reassuring squeeze. A small smile appeared on his face, but he remained in a haze, not being able to think quite clearly.

Sol had spent the past few days in relative silence, barely having the energy to act spoiled around Frey. He didn’t want to admit it, but the suffocating darkness in the back of his mind was growing larger and larger, steadily encroaching in the few spots of light that remained. He felt sluggish and dazed, and very, very, tired. His head barely touched the lumpy pillow they were provided before passing out from exhaustion.

Kyro sat on the edge of the hard cot, watching Sol sleep with a frown. They all suffered from sleep deprivation and travel fatigue, but Sol looked especially wan.

“He’s getting worse,” Frey said from the cot across the room.

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Kyro snapped.

“What will you do if we don’t find the soulstone tomorrow?” Frey eventually asked. He wondered if Kyro was ignoring him, for the other remained silent for a long period of time.

“I’ll take him home, to Rien,” he finally said. “He should be surrounded by his people and see where he grew up. Maybe it’ll bring him some comfort at the end..." Kyro’s words stuck in his throat painfully, causing him to get up and hastily leave the room before tears began to fall.

Frey’s heart felt like a block of lead, dissolving into poison that infiltrated every corner of his body. His face was impassive, belying the storm of emotions within him. He refused to believe Sol would leave them like this. After having previously vowed to not give up on him, if their current quest was a failure, Frey would continue searching on his own until the bitter end. But until it reached that point, he maintained hope that they would be successful. Otherwise, he didn’t think he would have the strength to carry on if he kept considering the alternative.

He was still awake by the time Kyro returned to the room, sensing him wordlessly slip into bed. Neither seemed to be able to sleep as the sun inevitably rose, bringing with it a brilliant stream of light that cut through the moth-eaten curtains covering the lone window. It seemed to glow like a heavenly ray of judgment, seeking out its next victim.

Since they were essentially making a local round trip that day, the two men let Sol sleep in before rousing him. He blearily opened his eyes, glancing around in confusion until his vision cleared. Some color returned to his cheeks and he smiled when he saw Frey looking down at him. Sol opened his mouth to say something utterly inappropriate but bit his tongue when Kyro’s face appeared beside Frey’s, causing him to scowl.

“Time to wake up, Luka!” Kyro said cheerfully, although dark bags hung under his eyes. “I heard there’s a bakery around here that makes the  _ best  _ pies. Why don’t we go together before heading out?”

Sol merely groaned and tried to roll away, pulling the thin sheets over his head.

“Ugh, I’m going back to sleep,” he muttered.

Kyro frowned, moving to pull the sheets back and drag Sol out of bed when Frey put out an arm to stop him.

“I’ll deal with him,” he said. “Go find something for us to eat.”

Kyro’s frown deepened but he smothered his desire to argue with Frey, wanting to show Sol what a mature, reliable older brother he was.

“Fine,” he said shortly before making a rude gesture at Frey and stalking out of the room.

Frey sighed, shaking his head at Kyro’s infantile behavior and placed a hand comfortingly on Sol’s shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

Sol didn’t answer for a bit, continuing to hide under the covers.

“My head hurts,” he responded, voice quiet and weak.

He felt a pair of strong, gentle arms slide under his back, lifting him into a sitting position. Sol leaned against Frey’s chest, not using any of his own strength to hold himself upright.

“Do you think we’re going to find it?” he mumbled.

Frey kissed the side of his face and stroked his head, freeing some of the tension in Sol’s body.

“I’m sure we will,” he said emphatically. “And if we don’t, I won’t stop searching until we do.”

“Frey..." Sol sighed. “If we don’t find it today...will you run away with me?” he asked. “I want to travel and see the world, waking up somewhere new each morning with you by my side...for as long as I have left.”

Sol felt Frey hug him tightly, but didn’t miss the slight trembling in his arms. Although he couldn’t see it, the general’s face was racked by pain and sadness.

“I can’t take you from your family,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I promised we would always be together, so I will never leave your side.”

_ Figures _ , he thought bitterly.  _ Why did I have to fall for such a noble and virtuous idiot? _ He laughed sardonically in his heart, seeing the humor in the dichotomy between them.  _ The whore and the saint, what a joke.  _ Sol had already made his decision all those nights ago, but a small part of him was hoping for once in his life Frey would do something selfish and inconsiderate without concern for anyone else’s feelings.  _ Don’t blame him for being a good person _ , he admonished himself.  _ Otherwise, he wouldn’t have looked at me twice or accepted all of my vile actions in the first place. _

Instead Sol took it upon himself to forge a path forward for them. In a way it was the gamble of a lifetime - the ultimate test of Frey’s dedication to him. At the very least if things blew up in his face and Frey ended up despising and being repulsed by him, he wouldn’t have to suffer that hatred for very long.

“I understand,” Sol said, looking up at Frey with a smile. “I’ll wash up and pack my things, can you find Kyro and make sure he buys extra salted pork pies?”

“As you wish,” Frey said, kissing his forehead lightly and heading out of the room.

Sol’s face fell the moment Frey left, his positive facade replaced by a dark and tormented expression. He quickly got out of bed and ran down the hallway to the bathroom, washing his face in record time before returning to check his things. A small, cloth wrapped bundle was hidden among his clothes in his pack. He truly didn’t want to use it, but desperation clung to him like a bloodstain.

“Whatever it takes,” he swore to himself under his breath.


	9. Chapter 9

After stuffing themselves with some surprisingly delicious pies, they saddled their horses and headed out toward the mountains. Apprehension continued to eat away at Sol like acid, feeling like although he didn’t really remember any of the scenery before him, he couldn’t shake the sense that he had been there once before. The ominous mountains loomed off in the distance, growing ever larger as they approached, like the destructive void growing within him. The winter sun was just past its zenith when Kyro let out a sharp cry.

“I can feel it!” he said, heart swelling with emotion. “It’s here!”

He urged his horse faster, shedding tears of relief and joy. Frey immediately was on his tail as the sound of hooves thundered across the barren plains. Sol followed behind them, biting his lip and feeling a cold sweat drip down his back. Kyro followed the powerful draw of Sol’s aura not too far ahead of them, feeling it pulsing like a living beacon. They ended up in a shallow valley right at the foothills of the mountains, empty and devoid of vegetation due to the harsh cold.

Kyro suddenly pulled his horse to a halt and jumped to the ground, heart threatening to burst out of his chest. He stopped abruptly, staring motionlessly at whatever lay before him. When Frey caught up, he felt his throat tightening, immediately realizing what he was looking at.

“He...he made graves for us,” Kyro said. A fresh wave of grief that he hadn’t felt in years crashed into him, once more drowning him in the undertow of his memories.

Four medium-sized stones were arranged in a semi-circle, half buried into the hard ground so they would remain in place. Kyro felt Sol’s aura calling to him beneath the third one and immediately rolled the stone over to begin digging. His fingers clawed into the solid dirt as he hysterically scraped layers away, moving with such fervor and intensity it was as if Luka were buried alive deep below and only had moments to be unearthed before suffocating.

Sol eventually caught up and slid off his horse, hanging back while Frey and Kyro were distracted. His hands were slick with sweat and trembled as he furtively withdrew the wrapped item from his bag, keeping it hidden behind his back. He quietly approached the two, observing from afar.

Kyro eventually grew still, breathing hard from the exertion. He stared into the small hole he had dug, golden eyes locked on a flash of white that contrasted with the dark earth around it, like a long forgotten bone. He excavated the pale stone, brushing off the last flecks of dirt that stuck to its smooth face and cupping it reverently in his hands. Frey looked down at the beautiful soulstone, expertly carved into a familiar shape. It was an eight-pointed star - one that he later learned was part of Rien’s royal crest - similar in design to the one Kyro had once gifted to Tristan. The difference, however, was that Sol’s had a curved line running diagonally through it.

Frey stepped back in shock when Kyro broke the soulstone in half, then realized it was always two pieces to begin with: the star was comprised of two identical halves that interlocked along the middle. Kyro stood up, holding a piece in each hand.

“When the twins were ten, our parents had these made for them. Although only Luka showed signs of being an aura user, they didn’t want his brother, Zion, to feel left out.”

He fit the two pieces back together, gripping the stone tightly in one hand, feeling the points dig into his palm.

“I guess there’s no point in keeping the halves separate anymore,” he said faintly. Kyro turned his head to look sadly at Sol, who was still standing a little bit away. “I...I’m just so relieved.” 

He felt like he had aged several years since his brother came back into his life; Sol’s sudden appearance and shocking condition rekindled the guilt and despair that he had only recently begun to bury, surging within him as if no time had passed at all. It wasn’t until he felt the tangible weight of the soulstone in his hand, feeling half of it thrum with life, that the chains around his heart loosened.

“What are you doing over there? Come on,” Kyro called out behind him until he felt Sol slowly walk closer.

Frey stood beside Kyro, who was still facing the makeshift graves with a pensive expression, lost in thought. Frey looked over at Sol, who seemed to be suffering through some kind of conflict. His brows furrowed, always concerned whenever the anxious teen showed signs of being in additional turmoil.

Sol stood silently, staring at the ground. His mouth felt like it was coated in sand - dry, scratchy, and nauseating.  _ Just do it _ , he told himself sharply.  _ It’s for your future with Frey, nothing else matters. Do it! _

“Hey, how come there are only four graves-”

Kyro turned around to face Sol, the question having just left his mouth when he was suddenly struck violently. Sol charged forward with all his weight, a dagger almost the length of his forearm clenched in both hands. His momentum drove it deep into flesh, crimson blood streaming along the hilt and onto his hands. Kyro looked up from where he had been knocked to the ground in horror as Frey staggered backward, face contorted in pain and clutching his abdomen. Sol froze, his shaking hands now empty but coated in Frey’s blood, staring at the dagger that was embedded in the wrong body.

“Wh-why?” he choked out, unaware that tears had long since been running down his face. “Why did you protect him!” Sol held his face in his hands, leaving two gruesome, bloody handprints behind.

Frey had dropped to one knee, focusing his consciousness with every bit of strength he possessed to refrain from passing out.

“Killing...your brother...is not the answer,” he gasped. Frey was shocked that this was the solution Sol had come up with, infinitely sorrowful that he was so irrational and misguided to the point where he would attempt to murder his only living family. The pain of knowing the severity of Sol’s mental anguish broke Frey’s heart, far exceeding any physical hurt he was currently suffering.

Sol felt like he was shattering, as if he no longer had an internal structure to prevent him from collapsing into a pile of dust. He screamed in agony, turning to Kyro who remained stunned on the ground. Sol rushed at him with a savage, unfocused look in his eyes, alarming Frey whose body was unable to move. However, Sol merely grabbed the soulstone that had fallen to the wayside and escaped into the base of the mountains.

_ I hurt Frey _ , he sobbed, barely able to see where he was going as his vision was obstructed by the free flowing tears.  _ No no no no- This wasn’t supposed to happen- He’s going to die because of me- No, he  _ won’t _ die, he can’t- But he hates me now- All I wanted was to be with him- _ Too many thoughts overran his mind, guilt and shame piercing him as if he had stabbed himself instead. Sol blindly climbed through the mountainous terrain, uncaring where he was going or if he would be able to find his way back. A small, lucid part of him thought it was ironic he was returning to the place of his birth, only to search for a suitable place to die.

The world had slowed to a halt for Kyro as he witnessed everything that had happened around him. He hadn’t noticed Sol’s unnatural affectation, completely unguarded around him. If Frey hadn’t been paying attention, using his body to push Kyro out of the way in time, he would be the one bleeding out instead. Kyro had barely processed what his younger brother had intended to do to him when Frey’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Kyro!” Frey shouted, his voice still unsteady from the pain. “What the fuck are you doing?  _ Get up _ !”

“I... You-you’re hurt,” he stammered, paling at the deep crimson that stained his clothes.

“‘I’m not going to die from this!” Frey’s glare ripped through Kyro, his eyes sparking dangerously. “But if you don’t get up  _ right  _ now and bring him back, after the things I’ll do to you, you’re going to wish both of us were dead,” he snarled.

Kyro nodded gravely, some of his mental faculties returning to him. He climbed to his feet and ran off in the direction Sol had disappeared, finally giving chase. Frey exhaled sharply, turning his focus on how to administer enough first aid to himself so that he wasn’t a corpse when they returned. Luckily, he was able to beckon the horse he had ridden, soothing it over despite the presence of blood that made it skittish. Frey began to prepare the medical supplies he always carried with him and ripped most of the clothes he packed into strips, planning to bind the wound as best he could once he was ready to remove the dagger.

The mountains they were situated by were to the north side of Rien. As such, Kyro had precious little knowledge of any blazed paths or routes Sol might have taken. However, the terrain was very much the same so he was able to methodically work his way deeper. Sol was an accomplished climber in his youth, perhaps a bit too much for his parents’ taste, so Kyro was unsurprised that he tracked Sol’s trajectory upward instead of forward. He grit his teeth as he did his best to climb after Sol, honing in on the twinkling glow of his aura.

When he felt Sol had finally stopped moving, Kyro strained his muscles and climbed even faster, desperately trying to catch up to him. He eventually pulled himself up to a flat outcrop, spotting Sol’s figure. He was kneeling on the ground, one half of the soulstone in each of his hands. His head snapped up when he noticed Kyro climbing toward him, his face flushed and awash with tears.

“Luka, please,” Kyro rasped, throat and lungs burning. He slowly crawled toward Sol on his hands and knees, as if he were trying to approach a wild animal and didn’t want to scare it away. “Come back to me.”

“Don’t worry,” Sol replied in an oddly calm voice although he continued to cry. “He will.” Sol closed his eyes, sweat mixing with his tears from intense focus, gritting his teeth and gripping the two stones tightly.

“What are you doing!” Kyro shouted in alarm, watching in panic as Sol was enveloped in a cyclone of aura. He couldn’t tell what was happening, for the concentration of his aural streams was too dense to individually discern. Kyro shied back from the pressure Sol was emitting, when as quickly as it had formed, the maelstrom suddenly dissipated. A violent tremor ripped through Sol’s body along with a scorching heat as he slowly unfurled his hands. Kyro let out a pained cry as he saw the piece of soulstone that contained his younger brother crushed to pieces.

“L-Luka?” he sobbed.

The person before him slowly met Kyro’s eyes, two sets of golden suns filling each other’s reflection.

“P-please...tell Frey I’m...sorry,” he whispered before falling to the ground unconscious.

Kyro screamed, crawling to his side and dragging Sol’s limp body into his arms. He shook him several times, calling his name over and over, but received no response. Sol’s aura was still actively twisting around him, like a turbulent cocoon. Kyro shoved the remaining half of the soulstone into his pocket and immediately took off his shirt, tearing it into long strands. He carefully situated Sol on his back and secured each limp limb around himself, preparing to climb back down the mountain. It was difficult enough to have reached that height on his own, but he was filled with grim determination to safely carry Sol back down. Kyro painstakingly lowered himself over the edge of the cliff and began his descent.

By the time he had cleared the vertical portion of the climb in reverse, Kyro was bleeding profusely and his muscles were roaring in pain. His arms shook and his hands were bloody and raw, palms marred by lacerations and fingernails torn from clutching the face of the mountain. Likewise, his bare chest was similarly shredded from when he could do nothing but lower himself by sliding down excruciatingly slowly while hugging the rock. He stopped to catch his breath for a few seconds, using the back of his trembling hand to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, before making his way back to the valley.

Frey remained sitting as still as he could manage with his eyes closed to prevent his wound from opening again, apprehension eating away at his consciousness, when he heard heavy footsteps and ragged breathing.

“Kyro!” he exclaimed, face a smooth, emotionless mask as he regarded the state he was in, heart tightening when he noticed Sol unconscious on his back.

Kyro trudged over to where Frey was, falling to his knees and releasing Sol from the makeshift bonds.

“What happened?” Frey asked intently.

“I... don’t know,” Kyro panted, shaking his head and laying Sol out on the ground between them. “But I think... he did something to himself.”

The two examined Sol, noting that although he was still breathing regularly and his heart rate was relatively normal albeit on the fast side, he felt like he was made of fire.

“He’s burning up,” Frey said. “If his fever doesn’t break, it could hurt him permanently. I have some mild fever reducing tinctures with me, but we need to get him to a doctor.”

“We don’t know what’s actually  _ happening  _ to him, though.” Kyro grit his teeth, balling his fists to control his trembling. “We need to get him back to Lorelai, no one will be able to treat him better than the royal physicians.”

Frey did some quick mental calculations in his head, determining that without stopping for anything but to swap horses, it would take them nearly three days to return to the capital.  _ Can he hold out for that long? _ he thought with despair. But they had no other choice, and every second meant life or death for Sol.

“Then we ride without stopping,” he concluded.

“We ride without stopping,” Kyro repeated in agreement.

They took a few moments to prepare themselves, Frey administering some medicine and water to Sol while Kyro roughly washed his wounds and put on a clean shirt. They tossed most of their non-essential belongings to shed any excess weight and released the horse Sol had ridden, urging it to return to town. Once they were ready to depart, Frey gingerly mounted his horse, knowing that the moment they set off at a gallop, his wound would begin to bleed again. Kyro kept Sol balanced against his chest, bundling him tightly to help sweat out his fever. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon and the deep chill of darkness surrounded them as they set off on their most grueling journey yet.

As they had declared, the two rode throughout the night and day without breaking except to refresh their mounts and check Sol’s condition. Both were extremely worse for wear and Frey’s wound never closed up, but their battle hardened bodies and adamantine resolve to protect Sol kept them going. When they finally broke through the gates of Lorelai, neither felt any relief, knowing that they weren’t truly out of the woods yet. Sol had remained unconscious the entire way back although the medicine kept his fever from spiking any higher. However, they were still unclear on the state of his internal condition.

Frey and Kyro appeared at the castle gates in a whirlwind of hooves, their overworked steeds foaming at the mouth, having long outpaced any messengers up to the castle. Cytus was the first to meet them, blanching white as a sheet when he saw their disturbing appearances. He cried out in alarm when Frey fell to the ground while trying to dismount, his clothes drenched in dried and fresh blood, finally blacking out.

“General Blackwood!”

He tried to run to Frey’s side but was roughly grabbed by Kyro as he rushed by.

“These two,” he heaved, voice barely audible as he pointed to Frey and Sol, the latter of whom was tenuously held upright in his arms, “Doctors.  _ Now _ .”

Cytus nodded, immediately organizing the nearby guards and attendants to move the two unconscious bodies then rushing after them. Kyro collapsed to the ground, every cell in his body screaming in blistering pain. His vision swam, barely registering himself being lifted and carried off before everything went dark.


	10. Chapter 10

Frey slowly opened his eyes, eventually recognizing the familiar ceiling of the guest room in the castle that was usually reserved for him. He tried to sit up before blinding spots appeared in his eyes, pain searing through his body. Exhaling slowly, he remained lying down while he tried to take stock of his current condition. All his limbs moved adequately and felt sensations normally, so he could thankfully rule out any majorly debilitating damage to his body. However, his abdomen felt swollen and hot, which meant his wound had unsurprisingly festered with an infection.

He had no idea how long it had been since they returned to Lorelai, and he was annoyed to find no one around to ask. Frey focused on regulating his breathing and slowing his heart rate until he was calm enough to try sitting up again. This time he was successful, although the bandages around his waist were suffocatingly tight and itchy around his wound. Frey attempted to rotate his legs off the bed, biting down on his lip to supersede the pain, and was victorious in the end. To his surprise, the door to his room opened and Piri cautiously poked her head inside.

“General Blackwood!” she squeaked, rushing to his side. “You shouldn’t be getting up yet.”

“I have to-”

Frey grunted, clutching his stomach and clenching his eyes shut as he fell back down on the bed, unable to stand on his feet. A wave of nausea passed through him as the room spun, feeling an intense rush of vertigo.

“His Majesty King Renton said you had woken and to check on you, thinking that you would probably try to move around.” Piri spoke in a soothing manner as she relayed Kyro’s words, although she tactfully left off his ‘like an idiot’ at the end. She helped Frey to straighten himself out and carefully pulled the sheets back over him. “They’re just next door, so please don't push yourself.”

After a few moments of relaxing the tension in his body, Frey opened his eyes again and looked up at Piri.

“How long has it been since we returned? How...how is he?”

“Two days,” Piri responded. “And...he still hasn’t woken up.” She shook her head sadly. “The royal physicians have been able to keep his fever at bay but they found nothing else wrong with him, physically.”

Frey let out a sharp breath, but he was relieved to hear that at the very least Sol had not gotten worse.

“Thank you,” he said. “I would like to sleep some more, but please, come wake me if anything changes.”

“Of course, sir,” she said before quietly slipping out of the room.

Frey closed his eyes again, his mind swirling with too many thoughts. Without realizing, he once more drifted off to sleep.

The next time he woke, the room was pitch black. After clearing his mind and adjusting to the darkness, Frey attempted to sit up again. This time he was able to do so with considerably less pain, although his pain tolerance was already abnormally high. Frey shakily stood up, using one of the bedposts for support. The stone floor was cool and refreshing against his feet as he slowly shuffled to the door. Frey painstakingly made his way to the only adjacent room, leaning heavily against the wall, not bothering to knock before opening the door.

“Frey!” Tristan said quietly, concern and alarm in his voice. The king immediately got out of his seat and hurried over to Frey, using himself as a crutch to help walk the unsteady general over to where Sol lay. Tristan eased Frey into the armchair he had previously occupied before standing beside him.

The only light came from a dim lantern on the bedside table, casting a warm glow on Sol’s impassive face.

“How are you feeling?” Tristan asked.

“I’ll live,” Frey responded shortly, sighing and taking Sol’s hand in his own. His temperature was still higher than normal, but not dangerously so. “Kyro?”

“Asleep. I was barely able to convince him to get some rest.” Tristan looked at his friend with sympathy, holding back tears of his own as he saw Frey’s wet cheeks reflecting in the halflight. “What...happened?” he asked. “Kyro...all he said was that the soulstone containing Luka’s memories was destroyed. But he thinks it’s because he withdrew the aura back into himself and that he’s currently trying to heal.”

Frey let out a genuine breath of relief, squeezing Sol’s hand tightly. Kyro hadn’t actually elaborated to him what happened that day in the mountains when he returned with Sol, so Frey’s immediate concern for the young prince’s life was eased.

“Frey...how did you get hurt?” Tristan’s stomach twisted nervously. There had to be a reason why Kyro refused to breach the subject.

“Sol stabbed me,” he said flatly, voice betraying no emotion.

Tristan’s eyes widened in surprise, but Frey continued speaking before he could comment.

“He tried to kill Kyro and I intervened.”

Tears fell from Tristan’s eyes in earnest when he heard Frey’s words, covering his mouth with one hand.

“Frey, I...I’m so sorry,” he sobbed quietly.

“Trust me, I did it less for your asinine fool’s safety and more so that Sol wouldn’t have to live with that regret,” Frey said coolly.

Tristan nodded his head wordlessly in understanding. They remained in silence for a long stretch of time before Tristan tried to coax Frey into going back to sleep. Accepting the fact that the best thing he could do for Sol was to quickly regain his strength, Frey returned to his room and committed himself to bedrest.

***

It wasn’t until three days later that the screaming began. Sol’s room was a flurry of activity as doctors and attendants rushed in, restraining his flailing limbs and forcing a sedative down his throat.

“What happened?” Frey asked sharply. He had recovered enough to sufficiently move around on his own - fighting off the infection and finally beginning to mend - although, tightly wrapped bandages could still be seen under the thin robe he wore.

“I don’t know,” Kyro said between his teeth. “He was lying there calmly, like before, until suddenly he wasn’t. I’ve been monitoring his aura and it’s been solidifying quietly, but just now went berserk.” Kyro shuddered, remembering the time he had operated on Tristan’s aura when it was in a self-destructive rampage. He didn’t think Sol’s aura was doing the same thing, but the similarity in their reactions nonetheless frightened him.

“What should we do? Do we keep him sedated if it continues?” Tristan asked, picking up on what Kyro was thinking about.

“I don’t know!” Kyro snapped before immediately apologizing to Tristan and running his hands through his hair in exasperation. “We’ll keep watching him for now to see how he reacts when the sedative wears off.”

The room eventually cleared out after Kyro’s decision, leaving only him and Frey behind. They stood vigil for several hours, neither having the energy or mind to argue, barely tolerating each other’s presence in silence. When the drug finally passed through Sol’s system, he immediately was overcome by a fit of madness again. They sedated him once more, although Kyro began to consider the gut wrenching alternative.

“Frey,” he said.

The general stood leaning against one of the bedposts with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked at Kyro wordlessly, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m going to grab some things.”

Kyro provided no other explanation or context before leaving the room, trusting Frey to watch over Sol while he was gone.

Just as he had done all those years ago, Kyro collected several odd and disconcerting items. Everyone in the castle was aware of what the visiting king was going through, immediately offering up their assistance to help him procure whatever he needed without question. He eventually returned to Sol’s room, hoping there was still enough time to prepare before Sol woke again. Without warning, he tossed several lengths of rope and a bundle of soft cloths at Frey.

“Restrain him,” he said.

Frey immediately understood Kyro’s intentions and began tying each of Sol’s limbs to the four bedposts with a stony expression. Meanwhile, Kyro set a basin full of water and another stack of cloths to the side, rolling one of the squares into a tight cylinder. They continued to wait like a pair of unyielding sentinels, a disquieting sense of foreboding hanging in the air.

It was late in the night when Sol’s tortured cries roused them from their state of half sleep. Kyro immediately worked the rolled cloth tube into Sol’s mouth to prevent him from hurting himself as he thrashed against the bindings. The two men watched with dread in their hearts as Sol fought against his inner demons, his muffled sobs causing them both physical pain. They weren’t sure how long Sol would remain in such a state, but vowed to remain by his side the entire time.

Sol was lost in a dense haze, stumbling through a heavy darkness that constantly threatened to drag him down. He had no concept of time or space, suffering the endless assault of memories as they were forcefully assimilated back into his existence. The initial onslaught was surprisingly painless - each fragment of his true self fitting back into his consciousness as they came - but the process was simply exhausting. However, the last memories that had been sealed caused him endless pain, prompting him to actively try and reject them. He ran as fast as he could but no matter what he did, would eventually be caught and dragged, screaming and crying, into the despairing scenes. Against his will, he remembered horrifying things that left him in pieces, reliving the unimaginable pain that had forced him to erase his memories in the first place. Heartbroken, Sol watched helplessly as the night of his undoing played out before him.

He and his twin brother, Zion, were in their room, flagrantly disobeying several of the queen’s house rules. They were holding a secret three-man party with their closest friend, one of the palace servants, who had heroically snuck two jugs of sweet wine into their room.

“Truth or dare?” Luka asked his brother.

“Truth!”

“Oh, oh, I have a good one!” Quinn grinned devilishly. “Would you rather smell with your feet or eat with your butt?”

“Gross,” Zion said, making a comically disgusted face. “Feet, obviously.”

The fifteen year olds rolled around in laughter, taking turns drinking out of the pilfered wine jugs.

“Ok, Luka, your turn. Truth or dare?” Zion said.

“Dare, because I’m not a coward like you,” Luka declared confidently.

Zion frowned, annoyed by his twin’s gibe.

“Fine, I dare you to bring back a pink mountain rose.”

Quinn’s jaw dropped straight to the floor in disbelief. Luka bristled at the challenge, but didn’t back down.

“That’s so easy I could do it in my sleep,” he said, faking a yawn.

“Off you go, then,” was all Zion had to say, making a shooing motion with his hands.

Luka stood up and stormed over to the balcony, throwing the doors open with a flourish. He turned and gave the other two boys an arrogant smirk before jumping on the stone balustrade where it connected with the face of the mountain and beginning to climb.

“Zion, pink mountain roses don’t grow anywhere but at the top of the waterfalls,” Quinn said quietly.

“I know, and so does that idiot,” he huffed. “Once he realizes he’s in over his head, he’ll come back crying. Now come on, let’s think of the perfect penalty for him when he fails.”

The magnificent stone palace was framed by two waterfalls that extended higher than the eye could see, the tops normally shrouded in dense fog. The existence of pink mountain roses was first uncovered by adventurous climbing parties who relished the thrill of testing their limits against the brutal mountain. In contrast to the darker red roses that were plentiful around lower altitudes, pink roses were incredibly rare due to the difficulty of obtaining them. As such, they were seen as the ultimate gift or token of affection.

Luka expertly made his way up the mountain, having a knack for finding the smallest of footholds and flexibly traversing between them. He quickly cleared the top of the palace, a feat he had done many times before, much to his parents’ immense disapproval, before continuing to climb upward. It was a cool night in early spring, the whistling winds refreshingly wicking sweat off his skin as he began to burn from exertion. Luka moved by the light of the moon, slowly making his way higher and higher than he had ever gone before. He was almost at the halfway point of the waterfall, a new personal record, when he registered the aches and trembles in his muscles. He paused for a moment, clinging to the mountain as he caught his breath. Luka cursed in irritation, accepting defeat once he weighed the value of his life over a stupid dare.

His descent took almost double the time, as climbing down backward - especially in the dark - was quite a precarious task. By the time Luka’s feet touched down on the balcony outside his room, his body was groaning in protest. He remained outside for a while to stretch out his sore limbs when he heard the screams that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Icy terror plunged into his heart like a sword, mirroring the one he saw protruding grotesquely from his twin when he looked into the room.

Several unknown soldiers had burst down the door and immediately drew their weapons on the two teens, leaving them barely any time to react. Although they were all trained in how to fight from a young age, none of them were allowed to own their own weapons yet, as was the traditional rule to instill a sense of responsibility and diligence. Additionally, the youths were born into a generation of peace and prosperity; they had not developed a sense of danger or battle. Zion boldly stepped in front of Quinn to protect his friend, but the two were mercilessly struck down by the same blow as a soldier ran them both through. Crimson blood spurted from the gaping wound in the middle of Zion’s chest when the sword was swiftly withdrawn, both bodies crumpling to the floor like ragdolls.

Luka whipped back around the corner of the balcony doors, his legs giving out from underneath him. He clamped both of his hands over his mouth to stifle the visceral scream that was about to leave his throat, hot tears burning trails down the sides of his face.

“This should be the last of them,” he heard one of the soldiers say.

“Let’s move the bodies to the King’s suite before the Regent throws a fit.”

Luka remained motionless, paralyzed in fear and horror, as he listened to the clink of armor grow fainter. He didn’t let out a single sound, even after he began to move. As if he were in a trance, Luka began to climb along the mountain once more. He shakily scaled the rocky face, dangerously missing footholds and letting his fingers slip on multiple occasions, despite having climbed up to his parents’ bedroom countless times before. He eventually made it to the safety of the large balcony that overlooked the expanse of their kingdom, centered on the front of the palace. Luka peered in through the glass paned doors, nearly fainting on the spot.

From where he hid, he could see six bodies lined up on the ground. He screamed and screamed in the depths of his heart until his spirit was raw and torn. After confirming the room was empty of living beings, Luka quietly opened the door and slipped inside. He knew he was taking a huge risk, putting his life needlessly on the line, but he  _ had  _ to see his family one last time.

The silent tears he shed made it difficult for him to see properly, but through his distorted vision made out the faces of the six corpses, all looking as if they were merely sleeping peacefully. He mourned his father and mother, regrets and grief piling up within him, higher than the tops of the waterfalls. He mourned his baby sister, who sparkled with light in his mother’s eyes as the one daughter among her troublesome sons. But above all, he mourned his twin brother, with whom he had entered the world and surely thought would leave the world with, together. Luka held his brother’s cold, stiff face in his hands, staring at the reflection that would never again smile back at him. His tears were unceasing and soundless sobs shook his thin frame. Unconscious of his own actions, he reached for the white soulstone attached to the identical choker around Zion’s neck, unhooking it and holding it close to his heart.

The only two bodies that didn’t make sense in the lineup were Quinn and Arlon, in place of Luka’s own and his older brother, Kyro’s. His heart thundered in his chest with a startling thought - did the invaders mix up Arlon, Kyro’s personal aid, with the kingdom’s Crown Prince?  _ Is Kyro still alive? _ he cried. Luka jumped when the doorknob began to rattle, stowing Zion’s soulstone into his pocket and crawling away to hide behind the fabric of the thick curtains beside the balcony doors.

“Quickly confirm the identity of the bodies. His Highness does  _ not  _ like to be kept waiting,” a stern voice said while a man was roughly shoved into the room before the door was slammed shut behind him.

The man, whom Luka identified as Gerza Swar, one of his father’s Royal Advisors, dusted himself off with a grimace, annoyed at being manhandled.

“I’m on  _ your  _ side, you simpleton,” he muttered under his breath.

Gerza gingerly stepped up to the bodies before glancing at them. His eyes grew wide in fright when he realized two bodies were incorrect.

“Where is the Crown Prince and the younger of the twins?” he mumbled to himself, biting down on his fingernail in distress. The man was about to turn to the door when Luka jumped out, immediately grabbing his head with both hands.

“Looking for me?” Luka growled quietly, savoring Gerza’s startled and frightened face.

Before the man could shout, Luka sent forth a surge of his aura into Gerza’s mind, causing the man to go blank in a stupor. Tears streamed down his face as he grit his teeth in concentration, unsure of  _ what  _ he was doing or  _ how  _ he was doing it, but only that he  _ must _ . He submerged Gerza’s memories in his aura, washing away his and Kyro’s faces, replacing them with Quinn’s and Arlon’s. Luka gasped from the exertion, having never done anything of that caliber before. He felt dizzy when he released his hands and stepped away from Gerza, stumbling back into the dark shadows of the balcony.

Luka sat under the cover of darkness while he recovered his energy, sobbing quietly. Gerza had left after believing the entire royal family was dead, sounding disgustingly satisfied with himself. More soldiers came into the room after some time to collect the bodies, mentioning that they were to be prepped for burning. Luka knew he couldn’t stay in Rien any longer and eventually got up, his legs prickling from having lost feeling in them ages ago. He quietly began to climb to the other side of the palace, reaching a near invisible outcrop that was actually a cave entrance into the mountain.

The primary mountain that the royal palace was built into housed an extensive network of tunnels and caves, reaching far into the surrounding peaks. Only the royal family and their closest advisors had access to knowledge of the various routes, and the naturally curious and adventurous Luka spent many days in his youth exploring the endless paths. His penchant for spelunking got him in trouble numerous times, either by getting lost or encountering collapsed tunnels, but he never truly felt like he was in any danger because his older brother would always come to his rescue, able to find him no matter how deep he wandered.

Out of all his discoveries, Luka’s most rewarding achievement was uncovering a passage that cut through to the other side of the mountain. Located toward the summit and off to the side where the mountain was more narrow, it only took a few hours to walk through. The difficult part, however, was reaching it, for the hidden pathway was only accessible by a reckless climb.

It was that tunnel that Luka aimed for, hurrying through the dimly lit twists and turns using only his muscle memory and hypersensitive instincts. The further he went into the mountain - and the further he got from everything he loved - the darker the tunnels were, going for longer and longer stretches without a light to guide the way until he reached another opening far above where he had originally started. His heart wept as he looked down at his kingdom, unsure of Rien’s future and knowing that it could very well be the last time he ever looked upon it. Luka steeled himself and once again began to climb, climbing not just for his life, but also in honor of the lives of his family and friends.


	11. Chapter 11

By the time Luka made it to the opening of the shallow tunnel, his legs were as boneless as a pair of snakes and he couldn’t manage to even lift his arms up an inch. He collapsed inside the dark passageway, fainting from exhaustion. When he eventually woke up, the light of day streamed in through the opening, beckoning him back out into the world - a world where his family didn’t exist, a world where he was alone. Luka couldn’t bring himself to move for quite some time, finally crying as loudly as he could possibly manage. His sobs echoed inside the cave, magnifying his grief several times over. He cried until he was a dried out husk, coughing up dust from how dehydrated he was. As he wallowed in the cave, he wondered if after sitting there long enough, he would become a part of the mountain. Finally sick of being stuck in one place, he walked through the entire length of the tunnel, not even stopping to rest before crawling over the edge and beginning to climb down.

Luka had technically never stepped foot outside of Rien, so going down the face of the northern mountains made it a first. He had no idea where he was going, or what was even out there, but suddenly being that high up filled him with anxiety and dread. He climbed downward as quickly as he could manage until the mountain eventually gave way to some ledges he could shuffle along. Once the large peak joined with the smaller ones around it, there were more paths to walk on. Luka dragged his feet through the mountain range for days, losing track after the first three. He survived on anything he could get into his mouth, which typically meant a variety of insects and dry roots. Whenever he came upon a small trickle of water that ran down the mountain from melted snow, Luka would spend an hour carefully catching the liquid in his mouth, forcing himself to rehydrate.

In this pitiful manner, Luka spent a week lost in the mountains. All he could focus on was moving forward, sometimes climbing, other times crawling, until he finally felt his feet shifting downward. He would have shed tears of relief had he any left to spare. By the time he could see the edge of the mountain dropping down into a lush valley, he was completely empty and numb of all feelings. He climbed down one last cliff before dropping onto a carpet of prickly grass.

Luka lay on the ground in a catatonic state, contemplating the point of his life. He was dead to the world, as was his family. No one would come looking for him and eventually no one would still think about him. He was no one. So then what was the point of being burdened by the ghosts of his family? He had a way out from the pain that crushed every bone in his body into a fine powder, so why not make use of it?

When it came to reading about subjects Luka was interested in, such as his aura ability, he had no problem poring over countless musty texts, unlike his older brother, who abhorred academic pursuits. The Crown Prince of Rien was a well known warrior who probably had muscles instead of a brain. In contrast, Luka’s own twin fell on the opposite end of the spectrum. Zion had no taste for any kind of physical activity, dreading whenever they had their scheduled training. He would much rather be stuck inside reading any book, boring or otherwise. Luka always prided himself in being the perfect balance of the two, and it was knowledge gained from one of his study sessions that he recalled the topic of memory storing. The concept was simple enough, so although he didn’t actually know any of the practical theory behind it, Luka figured he could brute force the same end result.

As his last bit of sentimentality, he walked through the valley until he found a suitable burial ground. Luka collected five rocks to represent each member of his family when he paused.  _ Kyro _ . He had completely forgotten that he hadn’t  _ actually  _ seen Kyro’s body. Luka let out a deranged laugh, hoping that his older brother was in a better place than he was. He picked up one of the rocks and tossed it aside, arbitrarily deciding that it wasn’t Kyro’s day to die.

He arranged the remaining four rocks into a semi-circle, packing dirt around the sides of the first two and fourth to prevent them from being easily moved. Where the third would be, he began to dig into the hard earth until he had formed a small well. Luka removed the soulstone from his pocket and unclipped its copy from around his own neck. He knelt on the ground within the half circle, locking the two pieces together and holding the newly formed star tightly in his hand.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, Luka began to flood his mind with his own aura, haphazardly sweeping all his memories of Rien into a dense cloud. Once he had completely absorbed them, he began to forcibly rip pieces of aura away from himself, screaming in searing pain. Each time he removed a small section, it felt like a limb was being torn off. Luka sat for hours, sobbing as he torturously gouged out his aura bit by bit, depositing them into his half of the soulstone.

Once he had broken himself into hundreds of fragments that now resided in the white stone in his hands, Luka used his last moments of lucidity to bury the soulstone in the hole, securing the remaining rock over it.

_ Prince Luka is dead. I am no one. _

His final thoughts drifted away along with his consciousness, sending him into a dreamless sleep.

He woke to a cold rain beating down on his feverish body, not knowing where he was or who he was. A malnourished, sickly, and sodden youth crawled through the valley in a delirious haze, not stopping until his strength finally gave out. He wasn’t even aware when his body was discovered by a passing couple who loaded him onto their small cart and took him away.

Luka’s eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly, screams still rising unbidden from his throat but stifled by something damp in his mouth. He spit out the roll of cloth and continued to sob, voice now a little louder but still hoarse and broken from hours of strain. He felt his arms and legs spread out, restricting his movement. His mind was a mess, memories and timelines fighting to accurately orient themselves. All he could do was call out for his brother, shuddering in realization of what he had done.

“Kyro, Kyro, Kyro,” he screamed, blinding himself with tears.

Luka almost didn’t hear his brother’s familiar voice over his own shouting.

“Hurry up and untie him!” he ordered Frey, who was already working on undoing the ropes.

It had been a day and a half since Luka had begun reliving his nightmares, running the full gamut of terrified screams and heartbreaking cries. Frey and Kyro barely ever left his room, constantly wiping down his sweat soaked body and trying to soothe his shaking. The moment Luka began to call for him, Kyro was by his side, gently stroking his face.

“I’m here, Luka, I’m here,” he called, gathering his gaunt and trembling brother into his arms.

“Kyro,” Luka sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

Kyro hushed his brother, stroking his hair lovingly.

“Shh, there is nothing to apologize for,” he said gently.

“N-no, you don’t understand!” Luka struggled against Kyro’s hold, looking up at him with eyes that were filled with guilt and shame. “I  _ knew _ ,” he cried. “I knew there was a chance you were still alive, and I still chose to run away and forget you. You were right, I’m nothing. Even with my memories back, I’m worse than _ nothing! _ ”

Luka’s confession stabbed Kyro in the heart, but nothing gutted him more than when his younger brother threw his own words from the day he had violently erupted, back at him.

“No, Luka, I was wrong.  _ I’m  _ sorry. You’re not nothing, you were never nothing.”

Kyro hugged him tighter, tears spilling down his face. He was so awful to Luka when he had first reappeared, berating and hurting him when he should have been protecting and caring for him. Now that he had been graced with a miracle, Kyro vowed to give Luka anything and everything he desired. The two brothers remained in each other’s embrace until they were finally out of tears, Luka hiccuping painfully.

“Here, drink some water,” Frey said, holding out a glass to him.

Luka pulled away from Kyro and shakily accepted it, immediately draining its contents.

“Thank you, sir,” he said gratefully, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

Frey didn’t move as each individual cell of his body turned to stone.

“...Sir?” he repeated quietly.

“I-I apologize, I don’t know your name, sir,” Luka said politely, hoping he didn’t offend the handsome stranger.

Kyro looked at Frey’s expressionless face then at Luka’s confused one in horror, suddenly grabbing his brother by the shoulders.

“You...really don’t recognize him?” he asked in a quiet voice, scared that Frey would implode at any second.

“No... Am I supposed to?”

Although Kyro was unaware as to the true depth of their previous relationship, he knew that something was desperately wrong.  _ Luka definitely remembers things that happened after he lost his memory, like when he first arrived in Lorelai, so how come he doesn’t remember Frey? _ Kyro’s mind was in turmoil, unsure of what to do. He looked at Frey, opening his mouth to say something,  _ anything _ , when Frey spoke.

“No, I suppose not,” Frey said evenly. He had on a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes - eyes that sent a shiver down Kyro’s spine, for they were empty and cold, like an endless expanse of snow in every direction one looked. Frey suddenly turned to Kyro and addressed him.

“I’m retiring to my room and do not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances,” he said flatly. Frey bid the two of them good night, although it was actually late in the afternoon, and swept out of the room.

As Kyro watched Frey leave, unease spread inside him, feeling like he was forgetting something important.

The castle doctors were recalled to Luka’s room to do a lengthy examination, eventually giving him a clean bill of health, aside from the symptoms of sleep deprivation, anemia, and vocal strain. By the time the commotion had died down and Luka finally got some real food in him, he had quickly passed out again.

Kyro finally felt things were calm enough to return to Tristan’s room to get some much needed rest, finding his fiance waiting there for him. The two melted in each other’s arms, fitting together like puzzle pieces even when they were only hugging. Kyro had been so wrapped up in tending to Luka that he had forgotten how much he needed Tristan’s reassuring touch, crushing the other against him.

Tristan had dropped by to check on Luka a couple times, but didn’t want to make the room any more crowded than it already was. He figured he would have plenty of time to connect with his future brother-in-law after he made a full recovery. Tristan leaned his head against Kyro’s shoulder, sighing in contentment that the crisis at hand had finally passed. His heart grew warm when he realized that meant they were one step closer to finally having their commitment ceremony, for which he still hadn’t had a chance to ask Frey to be his witness.

“Kyro, I haven’t seen Frey since before Luka woke up. Do you know where he’s been?” Tristan asked with a slight frown. He figured Frey would have refused to leave Luka’s side no matter what.

Kyro looked away guiltily, having completely forgotten about Frey’s situation.

“Ah...you see,” Kyro began awkwardly. “It seems that, when Luka woke up...he had forgotten Frey. So I think...he’s been sulking in his room,” he said quickly.

“What?” Tristan breathed, a painful lump forming in his throat. “Luka forgot Frey? So he’s  _ sulking? _ ” His voice escalated toward the end, stabbing into Kyro like an arrow.

“Yes, well, I’m sure they’ll be friends again in no time-”

“ _ How can you be so insensitive? _ ” Tristan shouted, losing his temper for his friend’s sake. He shoved Kyro hard, startling the other. The young king’s lavender eyes swirled like a lightning storm, threatening to set the room ablaze and incinerate Kyro where he stood.

“Why are you getting so upset?” Kyro said, genuine confusion on his face giving way to fear of Tristan’s temper.

Tristan caught the lack of understanding on Kyro’s face and froze.

“You still don’t know,” he said in bewilderment.

“Don’t know  _ what _ ?” Kyro pleaded, wishing Tristan would just tell him so he could hurry up and apologize.

Tristan suddenly began smacking him all over, punctuating each hit with a word.

“Dense! Imbecile! Heartless!  _ Idiot! _ ” he yelled, starting to cry in frustration.

Kyro realized he had truly messed up somehow, watching Tristan break down in front of him.

“ _ Please _ , Tristan, what don’t I know?”

“They love each other!” Tristan screamed, shoving Kyro once more.

Kyro stood in stunned silence, barely processing Tristan’s words.

“Wh-what,” he stammered. “That’s impossible...” Kyro wanted to believe it was a lie, but the more he thought about it, the more every interaction between the two started to make sense.

“Sometimes you can be so ignorant of those around you, only selfishly worrying about your own problems,” he seethed, wanting to punch Kyro’s dumbfounded expression.

“Tristan... Tris, I..." Kyro wilted under Tristan’s glare.

He seriously had just been so desperate and scared to not lose any more of his family, that he became hyper fixated on solving Luka’s situation, forgetting to actually pay attention to how his brother felt. Kyro was suddenly shocked, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. He finally recalled the last words Sol had spoken to him and the odd trace of aura in Zion’s soulstone. Both things he had pushed to the back of his mind in the midst of rushing Luka back to Lorelai and praying for him to wake up.

Kyro threw open the storage chest that he used as a miscellaneous drawer, having tossed the remaining soulstone piece into it when he had changed his clothes. He gripped it tightly in his fist and launched himself out of the room, shouting behind him that he was going to see Frey.

He blazed down the stairs, almost slipping on the smooth stone floor as he ran through the dark castle hallways until he stood in front of Frey’s door. Kyro knocked fervently but quietly, feeling Frey sitting awake inside, but not wanting to disturb his sleeping brother next door.

“Frey,” he called softly, remorse and regret in his strained voice. “I know you’re in there.”

“You don’t listen to anything but your own, detestable voice, do you?” Frey hissed. “I thought I made myself clear, under no circumstances did I want to be disturbed, least of all by  _ you _ .”

“Please, Frey,” Kyro begged. “Let me in.”

He leaned his fists against the door, feeling every bit the inconsiderate and self-centered jerk he was made out to be. Kyro was about to give up when Frey remained quiet and unmoving for a while, but stepped back when he felt him suddenly get up and go to the door. It opened a crack, revealing an incandescent eye that radiated hatred and pain.

“What.”

Kyro immediately pushed himself inside, surprised that Frey actually gave very little resistance. The room was completely dark, save for the watery moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Frey stood before him like a ghost, pale skin nearly translucent. Dark shadows covered his face and the only trace of color was the shocking red around his eyes.

“Frey, I..." Kyro began, understanding for once in his life he needed to tread carefully with his words. “I know we’ve had our differences and that we’ll probably never see eye to eye on things, but please believe me when I say I had no intention of hiding this from you... I truly was just overwhelmed by everything..." Kyro shook his head, he wasn’t there to make excuses.

“ _ What? _ ” Frey repeated icily, the remainder of his patience about to expire.

Kyro held out his hand between them, the soulstone luminous in his palm.

“I think you should have this.”

Frey looked at it impassively, not understanding the meaning behind it.

“Why are you giving it to me? If anything, it belongs with Luka,” he said coldly.

“Before...before he fell unconscious, he spoke to me -  _ Sol  _ spoke to me. He asked me to tell you...that he was sorry..." Kyro’s voice broke, finally empathizing with the heartbreak and bitterness that Frey must have been suffering.

Frey’s eyes flashed, widening an imperceptible amount, although his face remained unmoved.

“I think... _ your  _ Sol is in here.”

Kyro’s hand stung from the speed at which Frey grabbed the stone, not even being able to catch his movements.

“Get.  _ Out _ .”

Kyro looked at Frey, whose face betrayed nothing yet by that fact alone, betrayed everything he felt. He knew his presence wouldn’t be tolerated a moment longer and left the general alone to grieve.

Once more in solitude - the painful reality of loneliness he had slowly begun to accept his only companion - Frey fell to the floor, clutching the warm stone to his chest. He shook uncontrollably as silent tears left his body in torrents, refusing to stop even when night turned to day. He was filled with agony, as if knives were slicing razor thin cuts into his heart, causing him endless misery and torment with each beat. The anguish and pain would eventually become a constant in his existence, pervasive in his every waking moment and always clinging to him like a shadow.

Frey allowed himself to mourn for another day, ending his isolation when the impenetrable walls he had spent his entire lifetime building were back in place. This time, they were fortified with the defensiveness and caution of someone who had loved so severely for the first time in his life, with every fiber of his being, only to have tragically lost it in the end.


	12. Chapter 12

Lorelai castle was finally experiencing the beginning of spring along with the rest of the world. In the last days of winter, Kyro and Tristan had their long awaited private commitment ceremony with Frey and Luka as their witnesses, per Tierian tradition. Before their only family, the two exchanged vows, pledging themselves to one another for the rest of their days. Although they knew that their bond required no official ritual or public declaration as validation, it still filled them with joy and contentment to make a sacred oath with each other. There would be a public marriage announcement and wedding celebration later in the year, but for the moment the two wanted to cherish their love in privacy.

Since then, over the past two months Luka had been recovering from his trauma surrounded by warmth and affection, eventually returning to his ebullient and bright self. The young adult, now just days away from his nineteenth birthday, was eager to start the next chapter in his life. Likewise, it was an exciting period for the people of Tieria and Rien, for soon the joint town of Harmony would officially be settled and the first official trade route between the two kingdoms would be opened. Luka was brimming with anticipation, because for him, it finally meant returning home. It was decided that he would go along with the royal delegation, consisting of both kings, Frey, and several other important officials, to partake in the proceedings. After all the formalities, they would head to Rien for more celebrations.

Luka had complex emotions when he thought about going home, having been through so much to run away from his past and essentially convincing himself he would never have a home to return to. But his trepidation to go back to the site of his darkest hours was eclipsed by the intense longing for the comfort of his childhood and his need for closure. His fears were assuaged further by the fact that he would not be alone. Although Luka had lost an irreplaceable part of himself three years ago, reuniting with his older brother and coming to know the people of Tieria slowly helped disperse the emptiness that gnawed inside of him.

He was quite fond of the King of Tieria, who he was still getting used to thinking of as his brother-in-law. Luka could see that Kyro was the happiest he had ever been, and was eternally grateful to Tristan for agreeing to take care of his difficult older brother. As for friends closer to his own age, he adored Piri like a sister, enjoying the times when they swapped castle gossip or snuck treats from the kitchens. He liked to think that if his younger sister were still alive, she would grow up to be as kind-hearted and sweet as the compassionate red-head.

However, Luka enjoyed spending time with the general of the Tierian army, a stoic but beautiful man of unparalleled strength, most of all. He greatly respected the general and would often follow him around like a shadow. Luka couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something drew him to the blue-eyed man. Frey Blackwood was cold and distant, even heartless as some would say, but he always had a feeling that the general was exceptionally kind to him. Plus, the way his face would sometimes betray a hint of deep-rooted sorrow and pain caused his heart to twist uncomfortably.

In this manner the young prince peacefully spent his days, safe within the comfort of his new family and always looking forward to the future. Which for the moment, meant impatiently awaiting his birthday feast. Kyro was insistent on hosting an impressive affair - despite the annoying fact that it would be a Tierian black tie event - to make up for the years where they had been apart. Almost as vain as his older brother, Luka did not shy away from being the center of attention and expected to be thrown a magnificent party.

The day of, he woke up in an exceptional mood. It was still very early in the morning, and only those who rose with the sun were out and about in the castle. He splashed his face with cold water, instantly stimulating his senses, and looked around for some pants. Although Luka had recovered all the memories from his past, there were a few odd holes or unexplained phenomena from the three years where he had run away. From age sixteen through eighteen, arguably some of the most formative years for a young adult, he discovered a few habits he couldn’t recall picking up. Realizing he automatically went to bed in only a large shirt or the fact that he was prone to resorting to vulgar expletives caught him off guard, always surprising himself that there was still clearly a part of him he wasn’t familiar with.

Luka tore through the castle on quiet feet until he had traveled all the way down to the barracks, stealthily - or so he thought - watching the object of his adulation going through the same training routine every morning under the pale light of dawn. On rare days when Luka was especially lucky, like that one, he would get to see Frey’s aura ability in action. The general would summon a copy of himself to spar against, both bodies moving fluidly and sparks flying as metal struck metal. Sometimes it hurt Luka to see the dual faces, as it was impossible to not remember his own late twin brother, but he loved to watch the general’s powerful form nonetheless.

“Looking for some morning practice, Your Highness?”

Frey had dispelled his clone and was wiping the sweat from his bare torso with a cloth, staring directly at Luka’s not so secret hiding spot.

“Yes, sir!” Luka responded eagerly, rushing forward with a grin on his face.

He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed two wooden sabers from the rack of training weapons, warming his muscles up with some light stretches. Luka had spent the past three years predominantly using his right hand when he was actually born left handed; seeing it as an opportunity to hone his ambidexterity and to hopefully one day surpass Kyro, he was determined to become a master of dual wielding. However, those same years weighed heavily upon him, for in that same vein he missed out on a considerable amount of important training. Luka decided he would make up for it with hard work and the help of a certain genius general.

In the history of Frey’s entire military career, he had never tutored a single soldier one on one. Nevertheless, Luka was just audacious enough to constantly pester him for guidance and Frey was just weak enough to his willfulness to oblige the young prince, surprising nearly everyone. Frey exchanged his metal longsword for a wooden saber, matching Luka’s weapon of choice. They stood slightly apart, bodies poised and tense in anticipation. After a few moments of sizing each other up, Luka sprang forward and initiated his attack.

He immediately began raining a flurry of blows down on Frey’s guard, but the general expertly parried or dodged every strike. Whenever he was in battle mode, Frey’s face would become impeccably calm and deadly, but still intensely beautiful. Luka could never seem to tear his eyes away, which usually meant he would get distracted and end the day with a collection of bruises. After the first few exchanges, they broke apart to reassess their strategies.

“By the way, aren’t you forgetting to tell me something?” Luka said expectantly, tucking the loose strand of hair that always fell down his face behind his ear.

Frey gracefully swung his sword out to the side in a figure eight pattern, approaching Luka menacingly.

“Hm, if you manage to score a point on me, I’ll try to remember.”

Luka huffed, pouting over his obvious dismissal. They continued to spar, locked in a dance of whirling blades and precise footwork, trying to find cracks in each other’s defenses. Luka had already taken several hits but had yet to even scratch the other. It frustrated him to no end that he knew the general was going lightly on him, too.

“I’m done!” Luka finally gasped, out of breath and muscles burning. He tossed his swords to the side and fell backward onto the ground with a thud. “I’m so fucking done..." He complained loudly, rolling around in pain and humiliation. “Couldn’t even let me have some face on my birthday..." Luka muttered under his breath.

Frey stood over Luka, casting a tall shadow and blocking the sun that had already climbed far into the sky, bringing with its rays a pleasantly warm spring day.

“Your reflexes are improving, but you need to focus more during battle. You shouldn’t rely on instinct alone to save you when you have two perfectly good eyes.”

He leaned over and extended a hand to Luka, who grabbed him by the forearm, and pulled the dusty youth to his feet.

“It’s not fair,” Luka whined. “You have so much more experience than me.”

Frey scoffed, raising an eyebrow minutely.

“Excuse me for being so  _ old _ , Your Highness,” he said coolly, blue eyes narrowed to points.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

Luka threw his hands up in surrender, looking away quickly to avoid the cowing, piercing gaze. His eyes were drawn to the slightly raised scar on the general’s hip that stood out prominently against his pale skin, nearly two inches in length and blending in with the taut lines that disappeared enticingly below his waistband. Luka unconsciously reached out to touch it, lightly trailing his thumb along its span. He almost kept moving downward when his hand was sharply smacked away.

“S-sorry,” he mumbled, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “H-how did you get it?” The scar looked relatively fresh, but to Luka’s knowledge it wasn’t as if the Tierian army was currently active and Frey had been in the capital since he regained his memories.

Frey quickly turned, busying himself with putting their weapons away. He didn’t answer until he was certain his voice wouldn’t shake.

“I let my guard down and I paid the price,” he said quietly. “But enough of that, don’t you have other people to disturb?”

Luka bristled, making a rude face at the man’s back.

“It’s not like today’s a day I want to spend flat on my back in pain, anyway,” he snorted.

He ran toward the exit of the barracks, pausing to turn around and shout behind him at the last second.

“I won’t let you into my party if you don’t bring a gift!”

Frey made a shooing motion with his hand, sending the excitable youth off without a word. He did a few breathing exercises, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists. Frey could still feel the burning sensation left by Luka’s fingertips, as if he had been branded by a hot iron right over his scar. He chastised himself for even letting Luka touch him in the first place, feeling like his mental fortitude would be melted away the moment those golden eyes ever looked at him with desire again. Unable to properly calm himself down, he slung the towel over his shoulder and stalked off to take a cold shower, glaring at anyone he passed.

Luka made a beeline for the kitchens, having worked up quite an appetite. He arrived to a chaotic scene of fervent chopping, frying, and boiling. Everyone was busily preparing a wide variety of complex dishes and his heart swelled arrogantly knowing they were for his banquet. Luka gave his regards to the friendly faces he was familiar with, stealthily swiping a meat pie here and a crisp vegetable pastry there. He hadn’t sampled even half of the food before he got kicked out by the head chef. Luka stood in the hallway, making a mental list of which dishes to eat first that night, when a female voice called out to him.

“Your Highness, there you are,” Piri said, approaching him from down the corridor with a concerned look in her green eyes.

“Piri!” Luka said cheerfully, slinging his arm around her shoulder. “What’s with the face?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but your brother was expecting you thirty minutes ago.”

“Fuck!” Luka’s voice echoed against the white stone of the castle, immediately setting off at a sprint. “Thanks, Piri!” he shouted as he turned a corner, disappearing out of her sight.

_ Fuck me _ , he thought as a primal fear crept down his back.  _ Kyro must be  _ so  _ pissed. I’m fucking dead, it’s my birthday, and I’m going to die! _

Luka had completely forgotten that he was supposed to meet Kyro for something, although he wasn’t sure what. He quickly took mental stock of what the possible scenarios could be: if it was originally for a good thing, it was now a neutral thing. If it was originally a neutral thing, it was now a bad thing. And he prayed that it absolutely wasn’t for a bad thing, because then he might as well get a head start on fleeing the city.

He skidded to a halt just outside a set of double doors that led to a meeting room much like the one he had been reunited with Kyro in. Luka could hear some muted conversation from the other side of the door, but nothing discernible. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the door and walked in at a ninety degree bow.

“I am  _ so  _ sorry I’m late!” he shouted to the ground.

Luka remained awkwardly bent toward the floor as he only heard silence around him. Kyro sighed, walking over to his brother and lightly smacking him upside the head before pulling him up straight.

“Surprise,” Kyro said, voice dripping with exasperation.

Luka’s eyes widened in shock as he saw Jude and Mila sitting beside Tristan, both of his grandparents appearing very stiff and uncomfortable with being so close to their king.

“Gramps, Gran!” he cried, tears welling in his eyes.

He ran to them without a second thought, embracing them tightly.

“Oh, Sol,” Mila wept. “How many times do I have to remind you to remember your manners? Running late and you didn’t even greet His Majesty.”

“Och, can’t you just be happy for once that our boy loves us that much, dear?” Jude chuckled although the corners of his eyes were wet as well.

Luka let out a laugh that caused him to choke on his tears. It was difficult to try and qualify his feelings for his adoptive grandparents, given the fact that the few short years they spent together were undoubtedly eclipsed by the enormity of his previous life, but he knew he loved them and that they loved him. He turned to his brother, who had resumed his position beside Tristan, and mouthed a silent ‘thank you.’

The four of them spent quite a lot of time catching up and filling Jude and Mila in on everything that had happened, including their plans for the future.

“Gramps, Gran, why don’t you move to Harmony?” Luka said all of a sudden. “If I’m going to be in Rien, I can visit you so much more easily. And of course you two must come see Rien as well!”

Jude gave a sad smile, ruffling Luka’s hair.

“We’re not so young that we can move about as easily as you can, eh? Even getting to Lorelai was quite the journey.”

“Don’t worry yourself over it, though. You know we’ll always be waiting for you with open arms in Mistfall,” Mila said.

Luka nodded, sniffing slightly, but understood his grandparents’ concerns.

“Anyway, I still can’t believe who our little Sol’s big brother is! First we get to meet the Blue-Eyed Angel of Death, then the legendary Crown Prince’s consort, and even the King himself! What a delightfully small world!”

Jude let out a deep guffaw, slapping his knee while Mila had a tight smile on her face, as if she were holding herself back from strangling her husband to end his embarrassing display. Tristan gave the couple a polite smile, calmly placing a hand on Kyro’s knee before he flew into a rage.

“Yes. Ha ha ha ha ha. Very amusing,” Kyro said flatly, trying to reel in his temper that flared upon hearing his old moniker.

Tristan thought he saw hairline cracks appear on the wine glass in Kyro’s hand.

“Speaking of,” Jude continued, never knowing when to stop running his mouth, “where  _ is  _ General Blackwood? Why, you two were practically joined at the hip since he found ya!”

Kyro and Tristan’s faces froze as they both looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes, then at Luka. Luka had been silent since Jude’s earlier comment, unable to process what he meant. His heart began to tremble in his chest and his throat tightened, unsure why Jude had mentioned meeting the storied general, but even more puzzled over his last words. He felt as if his body was burning up again, horrified when he realized his memories from right before he came to Lorelai were disturbingly blank.

“Ngh,” Luka groaned, clutching his head and falling to the floor.

“Luka!” Kyro shouted, immediately by his side.

“My head...still hurts,” he said through his teeth. “Why?”

“Kyro, I think Luka should go lie down,” Tristan said. “Jude, Mila, I sincerely apologize. Why don’t you follow me to your room for now? We’ll let you know when Luka is feeling better.”

The elderly couple nodded their heads, eyes filled with concern. Once the three had left, Kyro gathered Luka in his arms and carried him upstairs to his room. He had already fallen unconscious at some point, but at least that meant presently, he wasn’t feeling any pain. Kyro sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

_ Luka’s memories of Frey could barely fill a month _ , he thought.  _ Then why does their absence affect him so much? _ In his heart, he knew the answer, but that didn’t help him come up with a solution any easier. Frey had made the decision to withhold the truth of their relationship from Luka, and honestly Kyro agreed with it. Not because of his petty squabbles with Frey, but because Luka’s attachment to him was unsettling and quite frankly, dangerous. He still broke out into a cold sweat whenever he recalled the hysteric look in Luka’s eyes that day in the valley with Frey’s blood staining his hands.

Kyro felt Frey’s aura outside the door, unsurprised that the general had come running the moment he heard Luka was unwell. He didn’t knock or move to enter, so Kyro simply spoke aloud.

“He’s alright, just...shaken from still having gaps in his memory.”

There was no response but Kyro could tell that Frey had left after confirming Luka’s condition. He sighed deeply, gripping his younger brother’s hand tightly and praying that he would one day be able to live freely with no shadows threatening his heart.


	13. Chapter 13

Luka woke up with a start, his mind still racing from the aftermath of his earlier fit. He sat up quickly and looked around, disoriented.

“How are you feeling?” Kyro asked.

“Fine,” he lied, still feeling a wrenching pain in his gut. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me, but I think I’m good now. What time is it?”

“You were only out for about an hour. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss your party, birthday boy.”

Kyro ruffled Luka’s hair affectionately, getting up from the chair he had been sitting in and stretching his limbs.

“But if you don’t hurry and start getting ready, you might be the ugliest prince in history to ever be celebrated,” he teased.

“Fuck off!”

Luka hurled a pillow at Kyro as he slipped out of the room, his laughter echoing down the hall. Having chased his irritating sibling away, Luka sat for a few moments in silence.  _ Something’s not right _ . He thought he had recovered all of his pre-trauma memories, so why were there giant holes in his most recent ones? And why did the emptiness from them hurt so much? The only thing Luka was sure about was that Frey Blackwood was somehow part of the equation.

Setting his worries aside momentarily, Luka took a relaxing bath before dressing himself. Unlike his older brother, he was actually a fan of Tierian formal wear. He thought the elegant and noble outfits suited him quite well, especially his long legs. Since it was the springtime, Luka didn’t want to wear too many layers and opted for a thin white blouse that opened in the front with a plunging neckline, showing off his delicate collar bones and accentuating his neck. Although he no longer had his soulstone, he continued to wear his choker out of habit, since it wasn’t as if that stopped him before. Luka paired it with a fitted vest that was cut from a rich jade brocade, delicate gold filigree woven across the surface, and plain, dark pants. He couldn’t really do anything with his hair, but had ordered a custom circlet be made according to Rien standards. It wasn’t anything fancy, since he really didn’t have money of his own to spend, but a simple woven band of silver that lay comfortably on his brow. A green jewel in the shape of a teardrop was set in the center, perfectly tying his look together. Luka was immensely satisfied with the results of his preparations, ready to prove Kyro wrong.

Tierian birthday celebrations for royals were always grand affairs, and even though Luka himself was not of Tierian blood, Kyro ensured they pulled out all the stops. The main ballroom was decorated with shimmering gold and silver banners that hung across the ceiling, reflecting any and all sources of light. Fresh flowers could be found in every corner, diffusing a pleasant and sweet scent in the air. Elegant music played as guests milled about, dancing or feasting on the delicious food that had been prepared.

The main event was always the introduction of the guest of honor followed by their personal greetings, well wishes granted to them by all those of status in attendance. Since Luka wasn’t really well known by the upper echelon, most of their greetings would be generic and insincere, but he didn’t care about those brownnosers, anyway. He waited outside the main doors, excited to make his grand entrance. Luka knew Tristan and his brother would be announced before him and then it would finally be his turn.

“Arriving, His Majesty the King, Tristan Crane. Accompanied by, His Majesty the King of Rien, Renton Ashai.”

Tristan and Kyro entered at the same time to thunderous applause, making their way through the ballroom and to the back where the table of honor was set up. Tristan was dressed in his iconic white and gold while Kyro also wore white, but with a heather grey vest.

“Arriving, His Highness the Prince of Rien, Luka Ashai.”

Luka walked through the doors that opened on cue for him, immediately being enveloped by the extravagance and luster of the ballroom. He smiled and held his head high through the cheering crowd, a novel face for all who existed outside the castle. Luka waved to Jude and Mila as he passed them, both wearing refined clothing that more than likely was gifted by Tristan, matching smiles on their faces. His eyes searched unconsciously for the one person he inexplicably wanted to see the most, but they were nowhere to be seen. Luka’s smile faltered, but he caught himself and continued. When he reached the back of the hall, he stepped up to the dais that held an ornate throne fit for princes. Luka sat momentarily while the official queue for his personal greetings was formed off to the side of the hall.

Tristan obviously went first due to his status, walking up to where Luka was now standing and kneeling before him. The crowd twittered in surprise, as traditionally the king did not partake in giving any blessings, since it required the giver to lower themselves. But Tristan paid such antiquated customs no mind, wanting to give Luka the respect and recognition he deserved. Luka held out his hand as he was earlier instructed, feeling a bit shy when Tristan held it and kissed it.

“Luka, you are strong, brave, and very precious to us all. I wish for sunlight to follow wherever you go, chasing away the clouds and darkness. You deserve to be loved and cherished, and I vow to do everything in my power to ensure that.”

Luka mumbled a thank you, heat creeping up his neck to his ears as the crowd clapped enthusiastically. He didn’t realize being honored was such an embarrassing thing. Kyro stepped up next, taking Luka’s hand and kissing it as well. He looked up at his younger brother, amber eyes swirling under the light like glistening streams of honey.

“Brat,” he started with a cheeky grin. “Being reunited with you was a miracle I thought would only happen in my dreams. But now that I have you back, I will never lose you again. I’m sorry for being such a shitty brother, and I’m sure we’ll have many stupid fights in the future.” Kyro’s voice began to break, pressing his forehead against Luka’s hand before continuing. “But I will spend the rest of my life protecting you and your happiness. As long as I walk this earth, you are not alone.”

When Kyro stood, Luka hugged him tightly, eyes wet with tears. The crowd went wild over the brothers’ heartbreaking story, many of the noble women dabbing at their wet eyes with handkerchiefs. It was unfortunate for the next few councilmen who had to follow Tristan and Kyro’s sincere greetings, but Luka didn’t really pay attention anyway. His heart constricted in anticipation, knowing that if the general were to partake in the greetings, he would be among them. Luka counted five out of seven councilmen so far, disappointment welling within him. He feared for a moment that his earlier joke had actually dissuaded him from coming, when in fact his attendance alone would have been the greatest gift of all. Luka was about to give up hope when a tall figure dressed in all black appeared before him.

Frey’s pale skin contrasted with his jet black ensemble, one of his formal military suits adorned with gilded medals and tassels. Only half of his silken hair was pulled back, as opposed to his usual ponytail. Frey knelt before Luka and gently held his hand. When he looked up, their connected gaze sent undeniable sparks flying in the air. His eyes sparkled like the most pure sapphires Luka had ever seen, but they were so, so sad. As Frey’s soft lips touched skin, a visceral shock was sent through Luka’s body, causing his breath to catch in his throat.  _ Why...why does his touch feel so familiar? _ he cried, feeling like he was going to light on fire in front of hundreds of people. Luka swallowed, trying to keep his turbulent emotions under control.

“Your Highness... I wish you good health and fortune.”

He quickly released Luka’s hand and stood up, immediately dispersing into the crowd. The onlookers clapped politely, knowing very well how taciturn and laconic the general was. Luka was stunned and a little insulted at Frey’s short and impersonal greeting. He knew the man wasn’t one for flowery speech but he expected something, _anything_ , more than that. He stewed over his confused and complicated feelings for the remainder of the blessings, barely registering anyone’s words after that. He was exhausted by the time it was over, wanting nothing more than to track down the general and give him a piece of his mind. Luka knew he was capable of speaking more than one sentence to him, so he was bewildered over his lack of words.

Luka stuffed his face with the delicacies he had been drooling over since that morning, feeling a little less cranky after eating. He made a polite round with Kyro and Tristan through the various circles of nobility, being introduced and having people introduced to him ad nauseum. All the while he kept an eye out for the elusive general, but Frey was nowhere to be seen.

When he was finally relieved of his social responsibilities, Luka discreetly slipped out of the ballroom. He acted like he was just taking a breather, going nowhere in particular, but was methodically pacing the corridors surrounding the venue. He began to panic, thinking that perhaps the general had already left for the night, when he saw a flash of red hair pass by.

“Piri!” he called.

“Oh, Your Highness, what are you doing out here?”

“I, uh, have you seen General Blackwood?”

Piri thought for a moment, trying her best to retrace her steps.

“He might be out by the terrace that overlooks the lake...or I could have just seen the shadow of a very tall tree, it’s hard to tell at night,” she giggled.

“Thanks, Piri!” Luka said, giving her a quick hug and running off.

He sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case, otherwise he would have no other leads to follow and no real excuse to aimlessly wander the castle grounds. Luka hastily navigated to the wide terrace Piri had mentioned, heart drumming in anxiety. When he finally reached his destination, he let out a breath of relief upon seeing the general’s powerful form leaning against the railing, looking very much like a tree in the inky darkness.

“Not much of a party person?” he asked, easily occupying the space beside him.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Frey said, not even turning his head to look in Luka’s direction.

A spring breeze fluttered between them, lifting the general’s loose, raven hair around his face delicately. Luka winced, blinking his eyes at a completely different image that flashed before him like a phantom - one of a snowy, starry night. He shook his head to clear the odd sting, then poked Frey in the shoulder, causing the general to suddenly shoot him a questioning look. Luka looked up at him and grinned, eyes glowing radiantly in the moonlight.

“I scored a point on you, heh.”

Frey opened his mouth to retort but closed it without a word, a small smile on his lips.

“Very well, then,” he said with the barest hint of a chuckle. “What was it you wanted?”

“You know...” Luka whined softly, too embarrassed to say it directly.

Frey looked at Luka’s expectant face and resisted the urge to tease him further, knowing that he was already acting way too reckless when it concerned the other.

“Happy birthday, Prince Luka,” he said quietly, smiling with a hint of melancholy in his eyes.

Warmth spread throughout Luka, filling every part of his body with a blushing heat. He hadn’t expected the general to address him by his name, but it burned him to his core. Luka looked away and coughed, wishing another breeze would come and cool him off. He watched the glassy surface of the lake ripple gently, grinning stupidly in satisfaction.

“By the way, what was with that ‘ _ I wish you good health and fortune _ ,’ huh?”

When Luka repeated Frey’s words, he did his best caricature of the general, speaking with an emotionless and monotone voice. The corners of Frey’s lips turned down as he scowled in irritation.

“I don’t talk like that,” he scoffed defensively.

“ _ I am General Blackwood, I hate fun and parties, blah, blah _ ,” Luka imitated him again but was unable to keep a straight face and ended up laughing toward the end.

Frey pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to lower himself and argue pointlessly with the nineteen year old.

“Think whatever you want, but there was nothing wrong with my greeting. Simple, efficient, sincere,” was what he said, but Frey would rather fall on his own sword than reveal to anyone that the words inside his heart were far too intimate to say aloud in public, their forgotten past not withstanding. 

Luka’s jaw dropped in amazement.  _ Is he serious? _ He couldn’t believe that the cold-blooded general had such a silly and endearing side to him. A smile appeared on his face at the invaluable secret he had learned, feeling like his birthday couldn’t get any better.

“Good, I was worried I had done something to make you mad or hate me,” he mumbled.

Frey was so genuinely startled when he heard Luka’s words that he responded almost immediately.

“Of course not, I could never hate you,” he said adamantly.

His heart bled as he recalled how the young prince had once been so starved for love and affection when he was deprived of his memories, constantly questioning his own self worth. Frey had once vowed to never let him feel that way again and didn’t intend to break his promise even if they were no longer in such a relationship.

The general’s words alleviated some of the prickling in Luka’s insecurities, but he continued to feel needled for other, questionable reasons. He leaned against the stone railing, chin situated on top of his crossed arms. The two stood in companionable silence, listening to the quiet sounds of the spring night woven together with the music that drifted over from the party.

“General Blackwood?”

"Yes, Your Highness?”

“I want to dance.”

“Then dance.”

“I want to dance with you.”

Frey paused, his face solidifying into an impassive mask.

“...I do not dance.”

Luka sighed, having guessed his answer already.

“Then, did you get me a gift?”

“No,” Frey lied, thinking of the wrapped volume sitting in his office that had yet to be delivered to its recipient. He had at one point considered commissioning a set of custom sabers for Luka, but swiftly shot the idea down, thinking that live steel should be kept out of his hands for as long as possible. So instead he went with a copy of one of his personal favorite military strategy compendiums, complete with hand-written annotations and comments from him. Books were safe and could not be used to stab people.

“Then dance with me. Just one, measly, little dance.”

Frey’s lips pressed into a tight line, knowing that if he didn’t give in to Luka’s wishes, he would come up with an even worse alternative. Having completely lost in the battle of wills, Frey turned to face Luka and held up his hands, a cold expression on his face. Luka ignored his obvious distaste and slipped into the space between Frey’s arms, holding one of his hands in his own while placing the other on Frey’s shoulder. The smile on his face outshone the moon above them as they slowly turned in place.

Luka secretly focused all his senses on the points where they were touching: hand to hand, hand to shoulder, hand to waist. He felt comfortable and safe, as well as the inexplicable, almost primal, ghostly sensation of familiarity. Wind tousled his hair, dislodging the stray lock that never stayed put. Frey instinctively moved to tuck it behind Luka’s ear, causing the prince to flush deeply.

“Your hair is getting long,” Frey murmured absentmindedly.

“Cut it for me,” Luka said.

“I’m afraid I can’t control my strength very well so you’ll end up losing not just some hair, but your entire head.”

Luka stared at Frey for a moment before he threw his head back and laughed until tears appeared in his eyes. The image of Frey trying to cut hair with his longsword instead of shears and his perfectly executed deadpan delivery left him in stitches. He laughed even harder when he realized that the general probably did use a dagger or a knife to cut his own hair.

Meanwhile Frey continued to stare stoically ahead, unaffected by his own rare joke.  _ See, I can be funny _ , he thought bitterly, still upset over being branded a stick in the mud. However, watching the other laugh so unabashedly, emitting the purest sound of joy that rang in the air, softened Frey’s heart and caused a little warmth to appear in his eyes.

Clearing his throat lightly after recovering from his laughing fit, Luka suddenly grew pensive, moving closer ever so slightly. He loved all the different facets that comprised Frey Blackwood, from his cutthroat, drill sergeant demeanor to his unexpectedly sweet and adorable expressions. Luka wanted to get to know him even better, to discover the sides to him that no one else had seen before. He wanted the introverted general to look at only him with a tender gaze, to spoil him and put him before anyone else, even the king. He wanted,  _ needed _ , a monopoly on his attention; if Luka wasn’t his entire world, then he would lock them up together until he was.

_ Oh _ , he thought, shocked and frightened by the intense feelings that clawed at his insides, finally awakening after remaining hidden in the depths of his heart. He caught the blue eyes that looked down at him, which were deeper than the infinite reaches of the sky, reflecting the obvious obsession burning on his face. Luka leaned forward, pressing their bodies flush against each other, tilting his head slightly until their lips could almost just touch.

Frey roughly pushed Luka back, panic and sorrow flashing in his eyes. Unable to exert his will over his rising desire, he immediately ran off, retreating to the barracks and the seclusion of his room and leaving Luka alone on the terrace. A mixture of hurt and shame boiled in the pit of Luka’s stomach, the sting of rejection like a thousand needles in his heart. Knowing that he had made a grave mistake, terror gripped Luka like an icy hand, plunging him into an ocean of fear that replaced the air in his lungs with frozen water. He gasped in pain, struggling to draw breath as hot tears squeezed out of his eyes.

_ What did I do- I don’t know what came over me- I’ve ruined everything- Have to talk to him- Have to explain- _

Luka’s mind began to spin, unraveling to pieces. He felt like he was losing control of himself, acting on strange urges and impulses that were foreign yet somehow familiar at the same time. He clutched his head, feeling like it was going to burst from the pressure. He shut out the world around him as he tried to calm himself down, but his breathing and heart rate remained irregular. Unable to control his trembling body, Luka unconsciously began to move, chasing after Frey.

The barracks were on the other side of the castle so he eventually broke out into a run, startling the few sober party guests he passed. Luka had never actually gone inside the residential part of the barracks, only ever setting foot in the courtyard that was used for training. He entered the white stone building that still looked very much a part of the main castle, desperately running up and down identical looking hallways, unsure of where the general’s room was. Lost in a fit of madness and desperation, Luka was about to begin banging on every door he could find when a strange feeling caught his attention.

Behind one of the many wooden doors, he felt a faint pulse calling to him. He stopped running blindly, feeling his way closer to the odd sensation. The door in front of him was obviously secured shut, but opened after a few moments of fiddling with the lock. As if in a trance, Luka entered the room and was immediately embraced by a welcoming scent. He had located the general’s personal office, where Frey’s smell lingered in every corner. However, what drew him in was the familiar tug of his own aura, like a signal flare that only he could see.

Luka’s heart pounded in trepidation as he pinpointed the source to one of many drawers lining the wall. A million questions flowed through his head but he couldn’t make any sense of them, hyper focused on finding whatever was reaching out to him. Luka tore through the contents of the drawer until his hands wrapped around a small wooden box. He withdrew it, holding it up to the light, but found nothing outwardly special about it. To his surprise, the lid popped open with ease when he tried to open it, as if it had always been waiting for his touch. The only object inside sent a tremor through him as he identified it immediately. He withdrew the smooth, white stone, turning it in his shaking hand.

_ Why does General Blackwood have my brother’s soulstone? _ he wondered.  _ And why is  _ my  _ aura inside it? _

Although he asked himself those questions, Luka could infer the answers easily, no matter how much he wanted to think otherwise. A shudder traveled down his spine as he realized what he held in his hands was the explanation to all his erratic behavior and thoughts. Without whatever was stored in the soulstone, he still felt so fragmented and incomplete despite having recovered most of his presence of mind. So then why were those memories removed in the first place? And why was he so scared to retrieve them?

A lump formed in his throat as he tried to swallow, conflicted over what to do. Logically, he knew whatever he had forgotten must not have been something good in the first place, as was the case when he originally tried to forget about the attack on Rien. But if it filled the aching hole in his heart and helped him to understand his uncontrollable feelings for the general, then it was knowledge he absolutely needed, no matter the cost, no matter the pain.

Luka breathed out deeply, a calm finally settling over him as he made his decision. He closed his eyes, reaching out to the aura in the soulstone, and slowly pulled it into himself.


	14. Chapter 14

Frey slammed his fist into the wall, cracking the bathroom tile. He had tried so hard, had fought with every bone in his body against the impulse to reclaim Luka as his, for he knew that was wrong. Luka was not his. He had almost destroyed what he had vowed to protect in a single moment of weakness.  _ Pathetic _ , he thought, disgusted with himself as he took his second cold shower of the day. Icy water ran down his back in rivulets, his core freezing over. He was finally returning to his senses after dulling them with the drop in temperature, numbing him all the way to his heart. This was how it had to be.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, pulling on a clean shirt and a comfortable pair of pants. His hair left damp spots on his back, but he didn’t care enough to bother with it. Frey couldn’t be near Luka any longer, for it seemed even without his memories, Luka was still drawn to him. The two of them being together was a timed disaster waiting to happen, the lit fuse burning down every second they remained in each other’s presence. If Luka remembered what he did, all the pain and loneliness he suffered as ‘Sol’ would surely return, enshrouding him in darkness once more. So for his sake, Frey needed to stay away.

The barracks were empty at that time of night, all the residing soldiers either attending Luka’s banquet or out in the city looking to enjoy themselves. Frey let out a sigh, pathetically going to drown himself in the only thing that kept his mind occupied those days: work.

He headed to his study, mentally going through what he needed to get done, when the sight of his office door slightly ajar prompted him to tense up and reach for his weapon. Frey cursed, realizing he wasn’t currently armed, but still prepared to burst into the room and secure the scene. He silently walked up to the door and listened intently, not hearing any sounds of movement. After a beat, he violently swung the door open, ready to let his fists fly, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

Luka stood in the middle of the room, the soulstone in his hands. Their eyes met, both horrified and scared, but for different reasons. Before he could explain his presence in Frey’s office, an agonizing shockwave coursed through his body, causing him to grip the stone even tighter, its points digging into his skin. Luka screamed in pain, both items clattering against the floor as he clutched his head in his hands and fell to his knees. He felt a familiar burning fire filling his body, white hot and melting away his consciousness as he slumped over.

“No!” Frey shouted, running forward to catch him. “No, no, no,” he cried, holding Luka close to his chest. He could tell the faint hum that came from the soulstone had gone silent, drained of the aura it once contained. Frey lifted Luka in his arms, feeling chills rack his body as a fever quickly set in. He bit down on his lip in a grimace and carried him up to his room, hoping the lower density of memories in comparison to the previous time meant a shorter ordeal for Luka to suffer through. But regardless, Frey knew he would be in hell when he woke up.

Luka floated in darkness, knowing what was happening, for he had been through it once before. All around him, swirling images and memories began to take shape, eager to return to their proper home. He grit his teeth in determination, heart beating out of sync.  _ I’m not afraid _ , he told himself. Hoping that his will would eventually become the truth. He would come out of this stronger, whole. He was sure of it.

When the first few memories hit, Luka immediately knew where he and Frey’s story began, for it was only a few months ago that they had met for the first time. It was Frey who found him in Mistfall and it was Frey who saw how filthy he was, running around in the shadows like a cockroach, but still reached out to him anyway. Luka remembered being jerked around by the man from the very beginning, but understood he was only duty bound to Kyro.

_ Yes, Frey only took notice of me because I’m Kyro’s brother- _

An unsettling voice, like a ghostly echo rang in the back of his mind, scaring Luka. It felt familiar, yet still otherly. More images flashed through his mind, tearing at his emotions. He saw Frey wrapping a midnight blue cloak around himself, eventually bequeathing it to him. The cloak that hung in his closet presently - the one he always reached for without fail every day that past winter out of unquestionable habit - was Frey’s first kindness to him.

_Mine..._ _He gave it to_ me _-_

He remembered how shocked he was when Frey said he knew his identity. Luka hadn’t believed him at the time, wondering if it was some elaborate hoax or scam, but a small part of him wanted to have hope, thinking that Frey truly was a blue-eyed angel who had come to stave off the darkness inside him. It was that same night when Luka’s heart was stopped by his divine beauty.

Frey had tried so hard for him, doing his best to convince him to go to Lorelai. Luka’s heart clenched when he recalled being told that his family had been murdered and his kingdom invaded, but wasn’t scared of the pain - he had already  _ lived  _ through that once before. What terrified him was the complete lack of anything at all. He realized the memories he still had from the past three years were all a muted grey, desaturated because the truth was, he didn’t feel anything back then - not when the vast majority of his true self was buried hundreds of miles away.

_ No,  _ I  _ didn’t feel anything. And  _ you  _ will never truly know what that emptiness is like. Stop trying to replace me- _

The voice began to turn its attention on Luka, causing a splitting pain to shoot through his consciousness. Luka felt like he was being torn apart, as if invisible hands were gripping into him with sharp hooks, pulling in all different directions. He screamed before realizing the hands were his own, shaking in terror and confusion. The next memory frightened him further - in his apathetic state, he had decided to manipulate Frey, to use him for his own personal gain. This...was him? How could he have been so ruthless and cruel?

_ You wouldn’t understand.  _ You  _ will never understand how it felt, waking up every day feeling more insubstantial than a fleeting shadow, like at any moment you could just disappear- _

The loneliness and terror of those days welled up inside of him, hollowing out his entire existence and only leaving behind animosity and doubt. A heavy gloom filled Luka, crushing his spirit and grinding it to dust. He felt like he was suffocating, as if his entire body was burning up. But it wasn’t water he was craving, it was more heat to burn even brighter and hotter.

_ No-No-No-No-No- You can’t look- These memories don’t belong to you- _

Another onslaught of pain and visceral screaming from the voice as his vision swam, a memory more hazy and heated than anything he had ever experienced before igniting within him. Luka gasped for air, able to feel Frey’s scorching touch on every inch of his body and deep inside of him.

_ If you’re going to take everything from me, that includes all of my wickedness too. I tricked him into being with me! That makes you a fraud. A liar. A fake. Just like  _ me-

The memories came faster, barreling into Luka with enough force to shatter him to pieces. His twisted relationship with Frey, based in the desperation to be loved and held by anyone, stabbed him in the heart. Luka’s mind flooded with all the nights they shared together, Frey treating him with tenderness and devotion, as if he were pure as the driven snow. The reality was that he was sinister and deadly like black ice, devious intentions hidden in plain sight. Luka had made Frey only think he cared for him, but it couldn’t be true, since no one was capable of loving a nothing like him.

_ Yes, we’re nothing. We should have disappeared when we had the chance. No one would have missed us. Coward. Worthless. Nothing- _

Luka cried, unable to discern the voice in his head from his own. A sudden realization struck him, causing his heart to squeeze even tighter. It  _ was  _ his own. No matter what, all of these memories belonged to no one but him. Every single despicable thing the “him” of the past had done was still attributed to the “him” of today. Including having dragged Frey down to his level and tainted him. He should have been burned for robbing an angel of his wings, for chaining Frey to himself and condemning him to a life of walking the earth by his wretched side. Instead of leaving him to descend on his own, Frey had offered himself up to save Luka, unconditionally becoming his.

_ He  _ is  _ ours. Frey said that we’ll always be together. He promised- _

Luka wanted it to stop, his vile machinations and entrapment of Frey laid bare. After everything he had put Frey through - after convincing each other what they had was  _ something  _ more - Luka was the one who turned his back on him in the end. If Frey was his, how could he have abandoned him? What could possibly have driven himself away, once more escaping like a frightened weakling from his own past?

_ Because we’re a monster that only knows how to hurt and destroy. Something incapable of being loved surely cannot give any in return- _

As if by power of invocation alone, Luka saw himself rummaging through Jude’s old military equipment, eyes full of madness as he stowed a vicious dagger away with his things. He wasn’t going to let anyone get between them, not even his brother. He could do it, he would do it. He was a coward, but those who are ruled by fear can be the most dangerous of all. That day in the valley, Luka truly meant for Kyro to die. And he would have been happy had he been successful.

_ Would Frey still have loved us? _

_ Yes. _

_ No. _

_ He promised. _

_ He broke his promise by interfering. _

The blood was too warm, too red, too human. It coated Luka’s hands, permanently staining his soul. He wailed and clawed at himself in realization at what he had done: the scar was from him, a physical manifestation of his violent obsession. Frey had almost paid the ultimate price for accepting Luka’s perverse love. He broke down, sobbing endlessly at the horrors he had committed.

_ Look what we’ve done, it’s all our fault. _

_ And now it’s happening again. _

_ Maybe we really will kill him this time. _

Tendrils of darkness burrowed deep inside of him, piercing straight through only to turn and enter again. No matter how many demonic snakes he ripped out, tearing them to shreds, the remains only gave birth to more. The repercussions of the mania he had been running from finally caught up and he had no one to blame but himself. Still, Luka’s feelings for Frey overruled any rational thoughts in his head. His will was a paper door against the tempest of emotions within him. He knew he was selfish and depraved, that he  _ needed  _ Frey’s affection and acceptance to bear the pain of existing. But Luka also knew he was undeserving of such salvation. The two warring camps fractured him in conflict, neither side decisively coming out on top.

Luka opened his eyes and screamed, unable to move anything but his arms. He flailed wildly, drenched in sweat with traces of blood under his fingernails.

“Luka!”

Frey’s icy stare locked onto his frantic gaze, holding him tightly by the shoulders. Luka didn’t know where he was, seeing an unfamiliar place although a comforting scent permeated the room. His voice was raw from screaming and his face was coated in tears. He couldn’t speak for several moments, disoriented internally and externally.

“Why am I here?” Luka felt like his head had been crushed under a boulder.

Frey opened his mouth to speak when Luka continued, causing his words to stop in his throat.

“I...I’m not supposed to be here,” he shuddered violently. “I was supposed to die in the mountains...”

“...Sol?” Frey whispered, eyes wide and frantic.

“Yes- No-” He clutched his head, tears once again falling. “I don’t know,” he sobbed, trying to escape from Frey’s hold. “He- No, I-  _ We  _ hurt you and tried to kill Kyro! You should have destroyed these memories when you had the chance. You should have thrown us away.” Luka wrestled free of his grasp and crawled into the corner of the walls where the bed was pushed into. He curled into a ball as if trying to disappear into himself.

Frey had to grab his wrists and pry them away from his face to look at him.

“How could I throw a part of you away? I promised we’d always be together,” he said, eyes blazing. “I love you.  _ All  _ of you.”

Luka couldn’t meet his eyes, tears overflowing down his face.

“We’ll just hurt you again,” he sobbed.

“Then hurt me. But I won’t break so easily.”

Luka realized with horror that Frey’s shirt was ripped and bloodied, small cuts and scratches all over his arms and back, no doubt from trying to restrain him through his fit. He trembled in fear, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

“You were tricked. None of this is real.”

His words came out in a shameful whisper, although there was a slight hesitation in his voice. Frey could feel a small crack in Luka’s composure, redoubling his efforts and pushing with all his might.

“I don’t care.”

Frey leaned in and kissed him deeply, setting fire to them both.

“It feels real to me,” he breathed, maintaining a heated gaze that melted Luka’s core into liquid gold.

He kissed him again, and again, and again.

“If you tricked me, then it’s my turn,” he said darkly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to deceive you into thinking it’s real, until one day you wake up and truly believe it.”

This time, Frey kissed him on the side of his face, right on top of the mark by his left eye.

“I’m...so sorry, Frey,” Luka wept, all of the hysteria finally draining out of him as tears.

“I don’t want your apologies, just your love.”

Luka nodded weakly, the raging battle within himself coming to a temporary ceasefire. Frey released his hold on Luka’s wrists and dragged him by the hips into his lap, immediately catching his mouth. Luka wrapped his arms around Frey’s neck and returned the kiss, beginning to hungrily taste him. As his mind cleared, he felt the strange duality of having touched Frey before, yet currently finding it a novel experience. The depth of his longing and the complex jealousy over his own memories erupted inside of him as he tore the rest of Frey’s shirt off, eagerly feeling the rippling muscles while tracing old and new paths alike.

Breathless and feeling like he was being burned alive, Luka stopped to shed all of his clothes, needing Frey’s rough hands on his bare skin. Frey’s eyes sparked dangerously as his desire surged palpably beneath Luka. He ran his hands down Luka’s backside, beginning to massage him from within. Luka moaned softly, lifting his hips slightly and moving his front against Frey. The memory of Frey’s heat was unimaginably intense, but in reality it was only a candle compared to the real thing.

“Sorry,” Frey hissed. “I can’t wait any longer.”

Frey turned him around on his knees before pulling down his waistband and resting himself at Luka’s entrance, both of them quivering from the touch. Luka gasped sharply as he was pushed into, shuddering from being filled so completely. Frey held him closely against him once he was all the way in, covering Luka’s back in kisses. Luka leaned his arms against the wall for support as Frey thrust into him deeply, his insides tightening and front twitching with each motion. Frey left no space between them, leaning flush against Luka’s back and running his hand down the tan thigh, gripping tightly. When Luka tilted his head back, looking up at him and licking his lips, Frey attacked his mouth greedily, stealing the breath out of him.

Once he released Luka’s mouth, he increased his speed sharply, engraving his shape deep inside Luka for the first time and the hundredth time. Frey bit down on Luka’s shoulder as the intensity peaked, drawing blood as they furiously rocked back and forth. He held Luka’s head to the side, kissing him deeply as they climaxed together, digging his fingers into his hips when the aftershocks rippled through him.

Frey knew the easiest way for Luka to understand his feelings was through touch, so he held nothing back and properly held him the way he had wanted to for months, their pain and pleasure coexisting side by side. No skin on Luka’s body was left unmarked, covered in bites and handprints. The only way Frey could leave a permanent mark on his troubled heart was by ensuring the temporary ones on his body never faded.

Luka subconsciously pressed into Frey’s warmth, having remembered the feeling of being beside him and refusing to be anywhere else. He slept through the night with strong arms around him, their weight a constant reminder that in that moment, he existed.

A sharp knocking on the door roused Frey, although Luka remained deeply asleep. He carefully climbed out of bed around the sleeping prince and tugged on his pants, a frown plastered on his face as he went to answer the door. When he opened it a crack, a brilliant and furious amber eye stared back at him.

“Out, now,” Kyro seethed.

Frey calmly stepped out into the hall, crossing his arms over his chest while his face remained impassive. Kyro merely glared at him, waiting for Frey to explain.

“He found the stone before I could stop him,” he said quietly.

Kyro brought his hands up to his face, exhaling sharply.

“How...is he?”

“He was extremely disoriented at first but I think he will recover with time. I’m not sure if he’ll be willing to face you anytime soon, however.”

Kyro sighed in relief, now having the mental capacity to want to punch Frey, but holding himself back.

“Take him back to his room the moment he wakes up, he should rest more.  _ In his own bed. _ ”

As Frey irritatingly said nothing in response, Kyro scowled at him and turned to leave before pausing to impart a threat laced with hostility.

“This doesn’t mean I accept your relationship, but if you ever hurt my brother, I will end you in the most painful way possible.”

“I didn’t think it needed to be said but the same holds true for you.”

Frey’s eyes flashed dangerously, inclining his head the slightest bit in provocation. The two glowered at each other for a few moments before Kyro finally left, muttering to himself. Frey wasted no time in returning to Luka’s side, once again wrapping his arms around him like a cage.

Although the man of the hour had ended up skipping out on his own party, it hadn’t taken long for Kyro to locate him after the event had wrapped up. The infuriated king wanted nothing more than to barge in and tear the sleeping couple apart, but Luka’s aura felt like it was truly at peace - whole, for the first time since he had reappeared. So all he could do was begrudgingly go back in the morning, but even then his brother continued to dream. Luka didn’t wake until later in the afternoon, stubbornly refusing to get up and clinging to Frey.

“Luka,” Frey said tenderly. He sat up and gently brushed the hair away from the other’s face, whose eyes were rimmed in red and swollen from crying. “You should return to your room. Kyro dropped by earlier, he’ll be expecting to see you.”

“No,” Luka whined quietly, burrowing under the sheets and wrapping his arms tightly around Frey’s waist. “I...can’t see him. Not yet.” His voice was barely a whisper, muffled from beneath the blankets.

Frey sighed, expecting as much. It was only natural for Luka to be so opposed to meeting his brother after coming to terms with the blackness in his past actions, but he couldn’t avoid Kyro forever.

“Alright, I’ll tell him to stay away but you should still return to your room and get some proper rest.”

“No,” he pouted again. “I live here now.”

Frey was glad Luka was feeling well enough to return to his usual spoiled behavior, but hadn’t missed how difficult his willfulness was to handle.

“In that case, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. But  _ some  _ people have to get up and finally start their day,” he said while extracting himself from Luka’s hold, trying to stand and walk to the bathroom.

When he left Luka’s grasp, panic and fear flashed in his golden eyes.

“W-wait, don’t...l-leave me,” he cried softly, voice trembling as he instinctively reached a hand out.

Frey immediately returned to his side, hugging him tightly.  _ Of course he’s not fine _ , he thought, admonishing himself for thinking Luka’s facade was anything but.

“How about this, I won’t leave you for even a second, but you need to come with me. We’ll get some food then go to my office so I can continue working. And we won’t see your brother at all. Deal?”

Luka nodded sullenly, letting Frey carry him to the bathroom. After they were refreshed and presentable - Luka having to borrow some of his clothes - they walked to the kitchens to procure some food, just in time to answer the pangs in their stomachs. Luka exchanged pleasantries with those who gave him a friendly wave, looking normal enough, although his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Frey was loading a tray with a variety of Luka’s favorite foods when a bright voice called out to Luka, who was quietly leaning against the wall, his face a closed book.

“Your Highness! It’s good to see you, we had all wondered where you ran off to last night.”

Piri walked up to him with a sweet smile on her face, drying her hands on the apron around her waist. Her face fell when she saw Luka’s wan and lifeless countenance, noting his red and puffy eyes.

“Oh dear,” she said softly, holding both his hands gently. “Are you alright?” Her jade eyes were full of sorrow and concern, thinking that something terrible must have happened for him to have spent his birthday crying.

Luka nearly burst into tears again, but fortified himself and gave her the most genuine smile he could.

“I am.”

In all honesty he was lying, but Luka figured if he said it enough, it would eventually become the truth, retaining a bit of his previous determination.

“You two brothers,” Piri said sadly, shaking her head as she recalled how troubled Kyro had been a few years back. “Always making me worried. But please, if you ever need someone to talk to, I am always here to listen.”

Luka suddenly hugged her tightly, causing Piri to squeak in surprise. He said nothing but shook slightly, so she returned the hug and patted his back comfortingly. Piri jumped again when a taller shadow eclipsed them, seeing Frey carrying enough food to feed a small army.

“General Blackwood, good afternoon!”

It was not odd to see the two together, especially since Luka had been searching for him before he had disappeared for the evening, so she wondered if Frey knew why he was so upset.

“Were you able to find him, after all?” she asked Luka.

“Yes. Thank you, Piri,” he said sincerely with a true, small smile on his face.

Glad to see his spirits lifted a little, she took her leave, waving at the two as she headed down the hall.

They returned to the barracks where Frey sat Luka down at the corner of his desk, placing a ridiculous amount of food in front of him. He picked at the food, unable to keep much down, and instead distracted himself by watching Frey work. The general was incredibly focused as he read through a thick stack of reports and diligently made notes, barely glancing in Luka’s direction. Bored but not inconsiderate enough to get in his way, Luka got up and began wandering around the office.

It was fairly empty and orderly, looking quite austere and impersonal. The only thing really marking the room as Frey’s being the familiar scent that Luka had grown accustomed to. He haphazardly opened drawers and investigated the numerous shelves, reading faded spines by tilting his head sideways. His eye caught a brightly colored rectangle, that upon closer inspection was definitely the size and shape of a book, but wrapped in paper. He picked it up, seeing his name written in Frey’s fine print in the corner.

“Is this for me?” he asked.

Frey finally looked up from his work to see what Luka was getting up to.

“Ah, yes. Happy birthday,” he said quickly before looking down again.

Luka tore the paper covering off, stunned silent when he looked over the military tactics book in his hands, complete with Frey’s personal thoughts on the subject matter. He let out a small snort, a grin breaking out on his face, thinking that such a gift was  _ so  _ like the practical and no-nonsense general. Luka’s heart grew warm, clutching the book to his chest.

“Do you like it?” Frey asked. His tone was even and detached but his pulse sped up as he waited for Luka’s response.

“I love it,” he laughed lightly.

“Good,” Frey murmured quietly, returning to his work. “Since my original option didn’t pan out, I’m glad it is satisfactory.”

“Oh? And what was your first choice?” Luka asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

“I wanted to bring you the head of that deplorable sack of shit, but after conducting an investigation into his illegal business ventures and putting out an order for his arrest, the bastard actually fled the kingdom. So I was left with the book route instead.” Frey spoke calmly, never looking up from the report he was reading with a bored expression on his face.

Luka blanched, feeling like a rock was stuck in his throat. Thinking to himself that Frey  _ must  _ have been joking - although he could really never tell due to his overall lack of inflection when he spoke - the prince let out a nervous chuckle, swallowing hard.

“Ha ha...I forgot how funny you are, Frey. You really had me going for a moment,” he said, voice half a pitch too high.

Luka shuddered visibly as a chill ran down his spine when Frey didn’t respond, missing the minute smirk on the general’s face. In the end he didn’t care what the gift was, it could have been a pebble from the side of the road and his feelings wouldn’t have changed. He cherished everything Frey gave him, regardless of their objective use or worth. To him, such silly but sentimental things were worth more than all the rare jewels and ores in Rien’s mountains.

He walked back over to Frey’s desk, setting the book down and standing behind him. Luka wrapped his arms around Frey, clinging to him tightly. He burrowed his face against the pale but powerful neck, kissing and nipping playfully until the skin flushed a light pink. The corner of Frey’s lips tugged upward, reaching a hand out to tousle the soft, dark hair that tickled the side of his face. Luka was like a small pet desperate for his owner’s attention.

“Be good,” Frey said with a small smile. “Once I finish with these, they’ll have to be delivered so we can take a break and get some fresh air.”

It was almost as if he could see little ears perking up in excitement on Luka’s head as he nuzzled against Frey’s neck happily. Staying perched over the general’s shoulder, he peeked at what Frey was so intently working through. The documents pertained to status reports and other news from Harmony. Over the course of the past month, after the cold snows of winter had melted away, settlers had been slowly occupying the new town. At the end of the week, they would all be traveling there together to officially celebrate the founding. And then, Luka would return home to Rien.

  
His heart grew still when he realized that more difficult days lay ahead of them. Luka understood Frey’s responsibility to Tieria; the general’s place was by his king’s side. He rushed to quell the poisonous thoughts that once more bared its teeth, tearing at his insides, suppressing the growing displeasure and apprehension.  _ It’s more than enough that Frey loves me _ , he told himself sternly. Nothing good would come out of letting his destructive emotions get the better of him again. Even though there was light and dark in him, at least he was whole. As such, he  _ was  _ stronger this time around. He could and would control himself. If his older brother and the king could manage their relationship around ruling two kingdoms, Luka could suffer to be apart from Frey now and then. But...did he really need to? The thought suddenly struck him as he continued to dwell on the subject in his mind.


	15. Chapter 15

Luka continued to stick by Frey’s side for the next few days, only disappearing out of sight when Frey absolutely had to see Kyro. He had no trouble interacting with everyone else in the palace; the only exception was his older brother. The King of Rien grew increasingly frustrated, his already nonexistent patience wearing thin. With only a couple days until they were all to head out on the nearly week-long journey to Harmony, he was extremely close to simply forcing the encounter by cornering the hardheaded nineteen year-old.

“Maybe he just needs more time, Kyro,” Tristan said gently, trying to stop his husband from doing something rash.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not being avoided by your only family,” Kyro sniffed sadly.

“You’re right, Kyro, how could I be so unsympathetic? My parents would never avoid me because last time I checked, they’re locked in stone boxes far beneath the ground and skeletons can’t move. Meanwhile, my uncle is rotting in a jail cell and would probably rather kill himself than see my face.” He rolled his eyes with a light snort.

Kyro threw himself around Tristan, apologizing in between pathetic grumbles.

“I’m sorry, Tris,” he sighed. “It’s just...he’s finally here and  _ not  _ dying, but he doesn’t even want to see me.”

“I know,” Tristan said while stroking Kyro’s head tenderly. “But he’ll come around. You two have the rest of your lives to be good to each other.”

“Right, but it would be  _ so  _ much nicer if we could start today.”

A determined glint sparked in Kyro’s eyes, filling Tristan with dread.

“Which is why you’re going to tell Frey we both want to meet with him, but I’ll actually go to see Luka while you keep Frey occupied.”

Tristan let out a deep groan, wondering why he had to fall in love with such an idiot.

***

Frey stood outside the polished wooden door, having walked through the castle while lost in his own thoughts. He knocked firmly, only entering after receiving permission from the other side.

“You two wanted to see me?”

Frey bowed respectfully upon entering Tristan’s study, looking around and raising his eyebrow minutely.

“Where is he?”

“I’m sorry, Frey,” Tristan said quickly in panic. “He refused to back down...Kyro went to go see Luka.” The king sighed and held his head in his hands.

“Good,” Frey said, surprising Tristan.

“You...don’t think it’s a bad idea?”

“Luka won’t be able to move on from the past if he keeps avoiding the crux of the problem.” His brow, which had been almost perpetually creased in concern those past few days, finally smoothed out in relief. “I would have forced him to go see Kyro sooner, but he can act...quite spoiled.” Frey shook his head, pinching his nose bridge between his fingers.

Tristan tried to control his face, forcing down the smile that was threatening to appear over witnessing the small, involuntary action of distress that he himself had actually picked up from the general.

“Either way, I wanted to talk to you alone.”

When he heard Frey’s words, Tristan looked up at him in surprise.

“Oh, assuming it’s not about business that’s quite rare.”

“It...sort of is,” Frey said quietly.

He approached Tristan, who was sitting behind a large wooden desk, and took one of the king’s delicate hands, placing a small object in the center of his palm.

“Frey...!” Tristan gasped, his eyes wide.

“I apologize, Your Majesty, but this is the decision I have come to-”

Tristan immediately got up and ran to Frey’s side, hugging him tightly.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” he said, eyes misting. “I couldn’t be more happy for you.”

Tristan was moved to tears over his friend’s decision, heart overflowing with joy. He returned the object to Frey’s hand, curling the warrior’s strong fingers over it tightly.

“I want you to keep it,” he said, leaving no room for discussion. “No one is more worthy of it than you are, and you will always have a place here.”

Frey said nothing, merely inclining his head in acknowledgement. Tristan hugged him again, saddened when he thought about how much he would miss the prickly general, but was truly content in the knowledge that there was finally someone he cherished above all others, including himself.

Several floors above, Kyro paced outside Luka’s bedroom door, running a number of different hypothetical scenarios through his head at the same time. Only succeeding in giving himself a migraine, he eventually gave up trying to prepare himself mentally and knocked on the door.

“Luka?” he called out quietly.

The deafening silence prompted him to knock once more and call a little louder. Kyro knew his younger brother was in his room and wasn’t sleeping either, so a vein began to pulse on his forehead.

“Please, let me in,” he said, exasperated. “You can’t hide from me forever.”

“I can and I will,” came his muffled response from beyond the door. “Just leave me alone.”

Kyro clenched his fists by his side, exhaling slowly to control his breathing.

“I just want to talk. Why are you being so difficult?”

“What part of ‘leave me alone’ don’t you understand?  _ Go. The fuck. Away! _ ”

Kyro snapped, his fist moving before he realized. The door splintered on its hinges and he knocked the rest of it down with a swift kick, stepping into the room.

“Luka Emir Ashai!” his voice thundered, shaking the form who was tucked into the corner of the room, knees drawn to his chest and eyes wide in panic.

“N-no! Don’t come any closer!” Luka cried, trying to crawl away from the fast approaching figure, but to no avail.

Kyro grabbed his brother by the shoulders, turning him roughly until they were face to face.

“Why are you running from me?” his voice was tight, holding back tears of his own as he looked at Luka’s despairing face.

“How could I face you after what I did?” Luka shouted. “I would understand if you didn’t want to see me, but you seeking me out and treating me like I did nothing wrong makes me feel worse!"

Kyro was taken aback at Luka’s rationale, his mouth opening and closing silently a few times.

“What do you want me to do? Get mad? Try to kill you in return?”

“I don’t know, maybe! All I know is that I shouldn’t be forgiven for what I did,” he said.

“Well you’re going to have to accept it, because I  _ do  _ forgive you.”

Luka shoved Kyro and stood up, chest heaving.

“You’re only saying that because it was Frey who got hurt. I’m sure you’d feel a lot different if it were Tristan instead,” he spat.

“That’s not true,” Kyro said through his teeth.

The two were nearly identical in height, staring each other down with eyes like molten gold, one pair slightly darker than the other.

“You’re my brother. I won’t hold a momentary lapse of judgment made when under duress against you,” he said decisively.

Luka threw his head back and laughed, startling Kyro who looked at him in confusion.

“But it wasn’t,” he seethed, tears falling, contrasting with the disturbing grin on his face. “I nearly killed the man I love because I meant to stab my brother instead, but that’s not even the most fucked up part. Despite having gone through all that torment, I can’t help but keep thinking those kinds of twisted thoughts even now! Maybe Tristan  _ will  _ be next, since if he’s gone Frey won’t be tied to Tieria anymore.” Luka continued to laugh as Kyro looked on in horror.

“Admit it. It’ll just be easier to cut ties with me,” he said calmly, tucking the loose strand of hair behind his ear as the manic laughing fit passed. “That’s why I’m going to exile myself from Rien. You should denounce me from the family record, everything will be better this way.” Luka looked away with a bitter smile before continuing in a strained voice, “These past three years broke something inside of me. I’m not the happy little brother from your memories anymore.”

A sharp crack stunned Luka into silence, stinging pain blooming across his cheek.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Kyro said, eyes sparking like thunder amidst the rain of his tears. “Did you think these past years were easy for _me_? I may be older than you but I didn’t have the luxury to run from the pain, like you did. I felt _everything_. I spent every waking moment, every second of my existence realizing how _alone_ I was. On top of that, I was taken as a prisoner and held captive by the ones who murdered our family. At least you were found by kind and loving people who took care of you like their own. I had to live surrounded by two-faced monsters, acting like nothing was wrong, while I fantasized about killing each and every single person in this fucking castle and then _myself_. But despite those thoughts poisoning me from the inside, I pulled myself together and saved our kingdom. Our _people_. Who needed a _king_ , when all I wanted to do was die so that I could join our family...so that I could join _you,_ even just one day sooner. And now that you’ve come back from the dead, you plan to leave me alone all over again? Just because you’re too scared to own up to your mistakes? To do _better_?”

Kyro exhaled powerfully through his nose, fingers digging into his palms to stop himself from trembling.

“I don’t think so,” he said sharply. “If you truly feel bad about what you did, you will  _ stay  _ and be the brother that I  _ need _ . I don’t believe for one moment that you don’t need me just as much as I need you. We may have Tristan and Frey but they have their own roles to fill.”

He sighed wearily as the rage began to bleed out of his body, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“I promised I would look out for you, but I can’t do that if you solve all your problems by running from them. Please, Luka. Give me a chance to be there for you.”

Luka remained silent, tears quietly rolling down his slightly swollen face. Everything Kyro said was true, which caused his words to hurt more than any slap ever could. He  _ was  _ scared, desperately so. He was scared of hurting the people he loved which led him to being scared of those same people abandoning him. He was scared of losing control again, because he himself was the scariest thing of all.

“You’re going to regret keeping me around,” he said quietly after some time, snorting derisively.

“The only thing I’ll regret is letting you go without even trying. I owe you that much,” Kyro said.

Luka glared at Kyro with contempt, realizing he had utterly lost against his brother’s willfulness.

“Fine,” he said tersely. “One year. I’ll stick around for one year, but that’s it.” Luka figured he could stand to play nice for that long, if it got Kyro off his back.

Kyro let out a breath of relief; at the very least, it was a start. _ I can work with that _ , he thought optimistically. Kyro embraced his brother tightly, although the other stood still with a stiff expression on his face, refusing to return the sentiment.

“Everything is going to be alright Luka, I promise,” he whispered.

Luka shrugged Kyro off of him, unaffected by his confident and positive outlook.

“I get it, now can you please  _ leave _ ? Or do you have more threats and schemes to carry out?” he scowled at his older brother, wanting to be left alone in peace.

Kyro grinned broadly, ruffling Luka’s hair and earning himself another glare.

“Alright, alright. Don’t procrastinate on packing, you don’t want to leave anything behind-”

Luka all but carried his meddlesome brother out of the room, finally able to breathe without Kyro’s oppressive presence. His heart constricted painfully when he thought about their impending return to Rien and just what he would be leaving behind in Lorelai.

When Frey returned to check on him, he found Luka sitting in the corner, curled up into himself and lost in his own thoughts. Since he was offered no explanation or retelling of how the encounter went, Frey determined the outcome off of Luka’s obvious gloom. He wordlessly sat down beside him, putting an arm around his shoulder and drawing in him closely against his side.

***

The final couple of days before their departure were a blur of activity and movement, everyone scrambling to make last minute preparations and checking their arrangements, only to re-check them later for the hundredth time. The trip would be one of the longest stretches of time to date where Tristan would be away from Lorelai since his ascension - nearly a full month - so not a single detail could be out of place. The large entourage was all set to begin their journey on a warm spring day, leaving the capital alongside Jude and Mila’s travel accommodations, only to shortly go their separate ways. Luka gave his grandparents a bittersweet goodbye, holding back tears as he saw Mila’s wet cheeks and promising to visit Mistfall the first chance he got. Then they were off, slowly spending just over a week to cross the scenic but homogenous plains between Lorelai and Harmony.

The trip was thankfully uneventful but Luka maintained a sour mood for a variety of reasons. He had forgotten how much he hated long distance travel on a horse, but what he hated even more was the lack of privacy with Frey. They were such a large group that people were always around, causing him endless irritation. Frey did his best to placate the ill-tempered prince, spoiling him rotten, but he could tell the closer they got to completing the initial leg of their journey, the more sullen and testy Luka became.

When they eventually reached their first destination, Luka was only too eager to spend longer than one night not constantly on top of a moving animal. Harmony was lively and bustling, already showing great promise. The residents were working hard to make the town attractive and profitable for travelers to visit, decorations beginning to be hung for the festival that would be held in a few days. The group spent some time recovering from the long trip then quickly got down to business, confirming that there were no issues with the town’s day to day functions.

Kyro and Tristan were filled with pride to see their people living peacefully side by side, although it wasn’t always the case. The first few meetings between the development teams from each kingdom were loud and unproductive, more often than not devolving in fights. The people of Rien still harbored a deep grudge against the Tierians for Darius’s crimes while the Tierians saw the others as uncultured mountain dwelling savages. It wasn’t until Frey took over as the wider project manager - after a pleading stare from Tristan - that progress was able to be made.

Although he ended up being unable to return to his post at the start of the season, Frey had left the reins in the capable hands of Vera Moon, an imposing woman who was well respected among her people for being a Royal Advisor as well as the mother of Tessa, Commander of Rien’s military. With her no-nonsense way of handling things, the final bits of work were wrapped up without any issues. So after long months of endless planning and then finally combining their efforts to make Harmony a reality, seeing the organic mixture of the different cultures in practice with their own eyes was extremely fulfilling.

The celebration was a boisterous event, kicked off in the packed town square by moving speeches from Kyro and Tristan on solidarity between the two kingdoms and a bright future of peace. They also used it as an opportunity to gradually announce Luka’s return, giving the people who had willingly moved to Harmony from Rien even more cause to celebrate, as they were the first to learn that their youngest prince still lived. The rest of the day was dedicated to non-stop partying, with food, drink, and merriment in abundance.

Frey watched the drunken crowd from afar, the melancholy that rose within him clashing with the upbeat music and bright cheers that floated through the air. In such a short period of time his life and, more importantly, the trajectory of his future had been turned completely upside down. The chain of events that led him to his current state could have gone awry at any given point had anything been slightly different. If he hadn’t gone to Harmony in the first place... If Kyro hadn’t proposed to Tristan out of the blue, causing Frey to be called back prematurely... If he himself hadn’t stopped in Mistfall along the way back or even ended up at a different inn... The past few months would never have come to be; Luka would have remained lost and Sol would still be trapped in a fatal darkness.

He felt a pressure on his side as Luka leaned against him, tilting his head back against Frey’s shoulder. His eyes glittered under all the lights that had been strung up through the square, simultaneously casting a warm glow on his cheeks.

“What are you thinking about so intently?”

“You,” Frey replied with a small smile on his face.

Luka flushed a deep red, looking away in embarrassment. Frey couldn’t help but chuckle at seeing the prince’s flustered face, kissing the crown of his head gently.

“Are you excited to return home?” he asked.

Luka didn’t respond for a beat as a complex feeling twisted into a knot inside him.

“Of course,” he said. “There’s so much I want to show you, I’ll probably have to come up with a schedule beforehand to make sure we can cover everything in just three days..." Luka’s voice trailed off, looking away to hide his pained expression. “You’re going to love Rien,” he mumbled quickly, rubbing his face on his sleeve.

Noting his distress, Frey gathered Luka up in his arms and began gently swaying them from side to side.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“You don’t want to dance with me?” Frey’s eyebrow raised minutely.

Luka shook his head rapidly, burrowing his face in the crook of Frey’s neck and hugging him tightly. Although he felt like he couldn’t breathe whenever he thought about not being able to see Frey regularly for a year, Luka forced himself to be strong. It was only a matter of time before the general would get sick of his dependency, so he needed to prove that he was a mature man worthy of standing by Frey’s side. But until then, Luka would continue to indulge himself in Frey’s affection.

Everyone but Kyro left in good spirits the following morning, for the King of Rien was nursing a colossal hangover. Their party had grown slightly in size with the addition of several well connected merchants looking to forge the first economic partnerships and two guides who had already traveled between Rien and Harmony enough times to be able to navigate the path with familiarity. A number of the key figures who governed Harmony for the moment saw the party off at the entrance to the newly created mountain pass, a few hours ride from the town’s limits.

“I wish you safe travels, Your Majesty.” Vera bowed respectfully to her king, making no comment on his haggard countenance. “Please give my regards to Tessa and her father.”

“Of course,” Kyro said through gritted teeth, the bright sun making his vision swim. 

Tristan sympathetically patted his back, offering him a waterskin.

“Thank you for your continued hard work, Advisor Moon. It is a huge relief to know Harmony is in such good hands,” Tristan said while Kyro rehydrated himself.

It was early morning when they finally entered the mountain range, everyone steeling themselves for the least comfortable portion of the trip. Previously the journey through the mountains would take at least a week, not to mention how perilous it was, but with the new passageway that had been painstakingly carved through the most stable parts of the dusty rock, was reduced to only four days of careful riding.

Luka rode beside Frey in silence, sticking close to him at all times, even when they broke for camp. He wanted to talk to him like normal, but somehow found it difficult to do so. It didn’t help that Frey was always a man of few words, merely offering his quiet company. Luka recalled the days the two spent going from Mistfall to the capital. Somehow things seemed easier back then as they were lost in each other, each liminal day more precious and desperate than the last. Luka longed once more for their world to only consist of just the two of them, heart aching in the knowledge that he would soon have to make do with just memories.

“What are  _ you  _ thinking about so intently?” Frey murmured in his ear.

They lay in each other’s arms under the cover of a small tent, moonlight barely filtering in through the fabric.

“Nothing, just can’t sleep,” Luka said quietly.

Frey pulled him in closer, the corners of his lips turned downward. He knew something was troubling Luka since they left Lorelai, but couldn’t do anything if the other refused to talk to him. Frey had his assumptions over what was bothering him, but stubbornly did not want to make the first move. Luka had no trouble selfishly requesting frivolous things or senseless affection but when it came to anything serious, tended to hold back. They needed their hearts to be as connected as their bodies were, otherwise Frey feared Luka would continue to pull away.

“I am always here to listen, if you want to talk.”

Luka said nothing, only clinging tighter. He chastised himself for worrying Frey, determined to start behaving normally again, confident in his acting abilities, having honed them for three years. Luka would send Frey off with a smile even if it killed him, for he wouldn’t be able to live with himself for a month, let alone a full year, if Frey left Rien while upset with him.

Frey let out a small sigh, wishing Luka would be more demanding as he had been in the beginning, but understood the balance between Luka and Sol was delicate and required time to settle. There was a high chance that he was specifically restraining himself, scared that he would once more lose control over his emotions. It pained Frey to see him so subdued and tormented. All he could do was remain by his side as promised, hoping that one day Luka would recover his sense of security.

To his surprise, the next day the prince seemed to return to his previously unaffected self. He regained his original chatty and spoiled disposition, even going so far as to complain that he wanted to ride with Frey until the general relented. Frey’s heart was unsettled at the sudden change, monitoring Luka closely. He remained suspiciously chipper even after they had arrived in Rien, immediately dragging Frey around the kingdom on a personal tour before Kyro could stop them.

They spent the entire day irresponsibly roaming through the vast city, Luka showing him one place only to be immediately reminded of something else and running off in the opposite direction, never staying still for too long. From the well kept terrace gardens to Luka’s favorite climbing spots, they ran in circles examining everything that had or hadn’t changed in the past years. Some parts of the kingdom were brand new - like the grand archway built over the end of the mountain pass indicating the entrance into the city - while others - like the crystalline lakes that were filled by Rien’s iconic waterfalls - were as he remembered. It relieved Luka that most things had indeed remained the same, but he knew the illusion would shatter the moment he stepped into the palace and his other half wasn’t there waiting for him.

When they finally made it to the royal residence, built into the largest mountain Frey had ever seen, an extremely irritable Kyro received them, eyes flashing dangerously.

“How could you run off like that?” he seethed, pacing wildly. “We haven’t made an official statement regarding you yet, so of course I was dealing with reports of people having seen an older, Prince Luka look-alike wandering around the kingdom with a strange man, which should be impossible, since you’re supposed to be dead!” Kyro ran a hand through his hair, sighing in exasperation. “I would have had you two forcibly detained in the palace, but Tristan said ‘ _ it would be good for you _ .’”

He made air quotes with his fingers, imitating Tristan’s voice as he echoed his words.

“For the next couple of days you are not to leave the palace,” he ordered.

“ _ What? _ ” Luka shrieked in disbelief.

“Tristan and I will be having our public marriage ceremony and, at that time, will also formally announce your return. Until then, you will stay put and stay out of trouble.  _ No exceptions _ .”

Before Luka could protest, Kyro stalked off, muttering under his breath as he went.

“Unbelievable!” Luka exclaimed, making a rude gesture behind his back. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

“Unfortunately, the king and your older brother,” Frey said flatly.

“That was a rhetorical question,” he mumbled, leaning against Frey.

Frey stroked his head reassuringly, calming him down.

“Let’s just get some proper sleep, alright? You can show me all around the palace tomorrow.”

Luka nodded weakly, suddenly overcome with exhaustion and about to pass out on his feet. Frey half carried him to one of the large guest suites that had been designated for himself, taking a moment to marvel at Rien’s style of interior decor. The room was large but still felt cozy and intimate, colorful tapestries hung from the walls and matched the vibrancy of the rest of the furniture. The bed was a large mattress lain directly on the floor, covered in a variety of pillows of all different shapes and hues. Sheer gauze descended from the ceiling, billowing around the bed like mist. The doors to the balcony were open, letting in a cool breeze that rustled the thin fabric peacefully. Frey skillfully helped Luka change his clothes before doing the same then tucked both of them into the surprisingly comfortable bed. He drifted off to sleep with worry manifesting between his brows, knowing that Luka would finally have to confront the reality of his loss in the most direct way possible.


	16. Chapter 16

Frey woke at dawn to empty arms, immediately sitting up in alarm. He relaxed when he spotted Luka’s figure on the balcony, silhouette illuminated by the fiery rays of the rising sun. Frey got up quietly and walked over, standing behind him. He slipped his arms around Luka’s waist and kissed the left side of his face.

“It’s beautiful,” he said softly, taking in the city below that was gradually being bathed in fire and gold.

Luka’s heart tightened as he leaned back into Frey’s embrace, watching his sleeping kingdom. Everything looked as he had left it, yet everything was different in the worst ways. Taking a deep breath, he cast the oppressive thoughts from his mind and pasted a smile on his face.

“Come on, it’s time you learned what  _ real  _ food tastes like,” he grinned, dragging Frey back inside so they could wash up and start the first of what he refused to remind himself were their last days together for a while.

After getting held up in the bathroom making some extremely pleasant memories, Luka led them through the brilliantly mosaiced corridors that refracted vivid shards of colored light in every direction. All of the palace staff had already been informed of his return by that point and everyone they passed greeted him with emotion, overcome with joy. Luka met a majority of them with great familiarity, shaking hands and giving hugs.

They eventually made it to the kitchens, where the chefs on duty were more than happy to cook whatever Luka desired. Frey ended up gazing down at the most random assortment of dishes, from bright red meat stews and sauteed vegetables drenched in crimson sauces to small, sweet cakes and creamy puddings. He watched as Luka hungrily loaded his plate, planning to offset the intense spices with stacks of freshly baked, steaming flatbread. The corners of Frey’s lips couldn’t help but twitch upward as he saw the prince squirm happily in his seat, eyes wide and sparkling like a child’s with endless gifts set before him. 

“What do you think? Good, huh?” Luka said, taking another large spoonful of stew.

Frey was always a fast eater and had already put away a considerable amount of food by the time he was full. However, just because he ate quickly didn’t mean he was unaffected by the spices.

“I cannot feel my mouth,” he said flatly.

He had lost the sensation of taste a long time ago, his tongue now paralyzed by the burning peppers Luka was so fond of. Luka laughed lightly and grinned, pushing a portion of a pale yellow pudding toward Frey.

“Eat this, it’s my favorite and will cool your mouth down.”

Frey obliged, the soft texture and mellow sweetness soothing his pain. After Luka had eaten his fill, they thanked the chefs and continued on their way. He felt considerably better with a full stomach, and decided it was finally time to pay his respects to his family. He grabbed Frey’s hand and gave him a small, pained smile while taking them down several sets of winding stairs that descended far below the palace and deep into the heart of the mountain.

Much like Lorelai castle, beneath Rien’s palace were the royal catacombs. Without the aid of brilliantly lit lanterns lining the walls, the tunnels would have been pitch black and cold, like the death it housed. Frey had noticed such self-lighting lamps throughout the castle and was quite intrigued, staring up at them intently.

“There’s actually another type of soulstone we mine called lightstone,” Luka explained, seeing Frey’s eyes spark with curiosity. “Its only use is that when it detects aura, it glows. Not very helpful for training, but extremely effective to avoid stubbing your toe in the middle of the night,” he joked. “It’s also a lot rarer than regular soulstone, so I wouldn’t be surprised you’ve never seen it before. We probably have never sold any to outsiders in the past.”

Frey continued to wordlessly marvel at the lights, determined to delve into Rien’s research on the mysterious minerals the next chance he got. Luka finally brought them to a massive, circular cavern that took Frey’s breath away. The walls and ceiling were beautifully inlaid with the luminescent lightstone, recreating a ring of jagged mountains around them with a large eight-pointed star overhead. Tiny flecks of stone mimicked the countless stars of the night sky, filling him with a heavy sense of poignancy.

Intricately carved and exquisitely detailed statues lined the room, with five grouped together in the center behind an altar set with slow burning incense. Luka stood at the threshold for some time before he eventually began to move, approaching the middle step by step. He looked up at the slightly larger than life statues of his family - himself still currently included - their unmoving eyes staring straight over him. Large tears rolled down his face as he knelt down in silence, head bowed and shoulders shaking from his quiet sobs.

His father stood in the center, face strong and commanding yet still extremely handsome. Luka hated to admit it, but Kyro looked more and more like the late king with each passing day; both aggressively attractive like a deadly but refined weapon. His mother stood beside him, as beautiful as he remembered, with his baby sister peacefully tucked in her arms. The tears fell faster and his heart felt like it would burst from the pain. Luka clutched his chest, sharply digging into his skin as if to alleviate some of the pressure. He could barely look at the final statues on his father’s other side, ones that made his mind go blank with anguish. Standing beside the replica of himself immortalized in stone, was a near identical one that was only differentiated by the most subtle changes between them: he was slightly taller and thinner, whereas his brother had a wider build and more square face. Zion had a small smile on his carved lips, forever frozen in time at fifteen. Luka couldn’t hold in his voice anymore, releasing agonizing sobs that echoed in the hollow space. In that moment he had never felt more alone until the weight of a steady, comforting hand was on his back.

The scars on his heart felt like they were being ripped open anew as grief threatened to tear his existence to shreds, but he fought desperately to keep himself in one piece. He still had Kyro, who needed him. In the end his brother’s words were right, for Luka needed him too. And now he had Frey, who had taken up residence in Luka’s heart, not just filling but overflowing the empty void his family had left. He remained kneeling for some time, having long lost all feeling in his legs, but his crying finally devolved into soft weeping. Luka wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep but woke up in Frey’s lap, eyes swollen and stuck together from his tears.

“What time is it?” he mumbled.

“Maybe sometime in the afternoon,” Frey said quietly.

Luka closed his eyes again and leaned into Frey’s warmth.

“I miss them so much,” he whispered.

Frey said nothing but wrapped his arms around Luka tightly. He wasn’t sure any of his words would ring sincere, for there was no misfortune in his life that was even close in comparison to the suffering Luka endured, especially since his own relationship with his parents was so estranged. Instead he opted to gently kiss his forehead and stroke his hair as a reminder that despite his losses, he would always remain by Luka’s side.

“They would have loved you, I’m sure,” Luka said, sniffling.

Frey smiled at him but wasn’t convinced of Luka’s claim; very few parents would be thrilled to have their beloved son taken away by an older, foreign man. They sat in silence for a bit longer before Frey opened his mouth suddenly.

“Are there...no bodies?” he couldn’t help but ask, looking around at all the statues of Luka’s predecessors but noting the obvious lack of coffins.

Luka was surprised for a moment before answering his question.

“No, it is customary to burn bodies in Rien and then scatter the ashes.” A dark look appeared on his face as he continued with a scoff, “I suppose Darius thought he was hurting us by leaving behind jars of ashes instead of bodies to be buried, but my people have always believed that the spirit can only find peace after the physical body is destroyed and the ashes dispersed, freeing them into the world.”

Frey nodded thoughtfully then spoke.

“I’m sure that means all these years, even without your memory, your family was watching over and protecting you. You were never alone, Luka.”

Luka began to cry all over again, wailing into Frey’s shoulder. The general was startled, worried that his words were insensitive and had hurt him further, but was shocked to see Luka smiling weakly through his tears.

“Th-thank you,” he sobbed, feeling for the first time since he had retrieved his memories that perhaps one day, he would wake up and the pain would hurt a little less than before. Luka left the catacombs with small rays of hope in his heart, cutting through the fog of darkness that surrounded it. He also surged with love for Frey, appreciative of his caring, albeit slightly clumsy and clueless, side.

“I...I need to go talk to my brother,” Luka said quietly, voice hoarse.

“I’m sure he would like that,” Frey murmured, kissing the top of his head. “I’ll be waiting for you in the room.” He watched as Luka ran off, relieved to see that being back home seemed to aid with his healing as opposed to the alternative.

The four of them enjoyed an intimate dinner in the evening that was very lively due to the fact that Luka had finally stopped shutting Kyro out. Instead of being quietly upset with each other, the two brothers could now return to their loud and quarrelsome sibling rivalry. Tristan and Frey sat in momentary peace off to the side while Kyro and Luka argued over anything and everything, including Luka’s house arrest.

“It’s just one more day, why do you have to act like such a child?” Kyro said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“There are still tons of places I want to take Frey outside the palace. You’re wasting the time I have left with him!” Luka shouted.

Tristan threw Frey a questioning look, but the general merely shook his head slightly and shrugged, face unreadable.

“It’s not like he’s going away forever, grow up, Luka. You are the  _ last  _ Prince of Rien. In fact, once Tristan and Frey return to Tieria, your studies and training will be resumed. You have a lot to catch up on.”

Luka slammed his hands down on the table, releasing an unintelligible grunt of aggravation. He got up from his seat and stalked off, fuming. Kyro held his face in his hands and sighed, knowing that he was doing a terrible job of dealing with his brother. Tristan patted his shoulder gently while Frey got up as well, excusing himself with a slight bow.

He tried to run after Luka but the upset prince had already disappeared deep into the palace. Frey wandered about with a sour look on his face until he ran into several servants, asking each one if they had seen where he had gone. One of them finally mentioned seeing him head toward his bedroom, and when Frey stared at him blankly - which unbeknownst to him came off as a stern glare - offered to take him there, intimidated by the general’s imposing air.

Light filtered out into the dim hallway from under Luka’s door. Frey could hear his muffled voice on the other side, his heart tightening when he thought Luka was talking to himself again.

“Luka? It’s me,” he said, knocking gently on the door.

“Ah... S-sorry for running off like that,” he sniffed, startled from the sudden interruption. “I just...wanted to talk to my brother for a bit.”

Luka hadn’t yet been back to the room he shared with his twin, scared of how he would react when he returned to the worst point of his trauma. But whenever he felt bad in the past, his twin was always the one to comfort him. He hadn’t planned on going there when he ran off, but somehow his feet instinctively led him to their room.

“I want to be left alone right now...sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ll come find you later. You can go to sleep first if you’re tired.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Frey said, trying to keep his tone even. “Good night, then.”

Once Luka heard Frey’s footsteps disappear down the hall, he dropped back down on his brother’s bed, hugging a tear-stained pillow tightly and curling into a ball. Their room had been thoroughly cleaned and put back to order, not a trace of that horrible night remaining. It looked as it always had three years ago, to the point where he thought Zion would come walking through the door if he waited long enough.

“Zion, I don’t know what to do,” he cried to himself.

_ I don’t want to want to be apart from Frey... _

_ I know I’m being selfish and childish but... _

_ It just hurts too much... _

He sobbed even harder when he realized he had no idea what a nineteen year-old Zion would say to him, his brain unable to supply the other half of the conversation. The gap of shared experiences and years they were robbed of would only grow wider and wider until his own twin would feel like a stranger to him, just a fifteen year-old boy smiling in his memories. Luka eventually cried himself to sleep, rousing into a half-awake state in the middle of the night, disturbed by the hushed voices outside his door.

“I’m trying my best, Tris, but every time we take one step forward, we immediately take two steps back.”

Kyro’s voice was quiet but edged in pain, causing Luka’s heart to twist uncomfortably.

“I know,” Tristan replied calmly. “And I’m sure he knows as well. It’ll take time for things to calm down.”

Kyro sighed, feeling defeated.

“I can’t be a good brother, parent,  _ and  _ king to him, all at the same time. He’s going to leave me eventually and I have no right to stop him,” he mumbled.

“One day that may be true, but for now you two have all the time in the world to learn how to understand each other. Let him rest, you can always talk to him tomorrow.”

Kyro let himself be led away by Tristan, their voices quickly fading out of earshot. Luka continued to lay in place, thoughts stewing in turmoil. He knew he was being unfair to Kyro, especially when  _ he  _ was the one who should be groveling for forgiveness in the first place. He resolved to be more considerate of his brother’s position in the future, not wanting to intentionally cause him distress. Luka just couldn’t help but become extremely irrational whenever Frey was involved. He finally got up after some time, silently dragging himself out of the bed and walking over to the door.

“Goodbye, Zion,” he whispered.

Dead silence was all that he received as he shut the door and locked it.

Frey stirred when he heard the a low creak and several muted steps, hand already on the hilt of the knife he always slept with, but released it when he felt Luka crawl into bed beside him. Once again he said nothing, only clinging to Frey’s back, not letting go for a single second the entire night.

Luka slept in the next morning, having exhausted himself emotionally the day before. He woke with a start, finding Frey sitting beside him reading a book.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked frantically, scrambling out of bed.

Frey set his book down and grabbed Luka by the waist, pulling him into his lap and almost getting smacked in the face by his flailing. He growled in warning then kissed him deeply until he felt the tension in Luka’s body dissipate.

“Why are you so agitated?” Frey asked sternly.

“Th-there’s just...still so much I want to do...before you leave,” he said, breathless.

Frey sighed in exasperation.

“Fine. What do you want to do today?”

Luka immediately perked up, eyes shining like the morning sun reflecting off the surface of Rien’s iconic waterfalls.

“We’re going to explore the mountain tunnels!” he said, brimming with excitement.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to leave the palace.”

“ _ Technically _ , the palace is a part of the mountain. So, we’re not actually leaving it,” Luka said proudly.

He looked so incredibly satisfied with himself that Frey couldn’t help but chuckle, thinking his logic was just stupid enough that Kyro couldn’t refute it. They ate a quick breakfast and once Luka threw together a small pack of supplies, including a variety of snacks, set out for the caves. The easiest entrance to the tunnels was hidden in the back of the palace throne room, specifically meant for quick escapes should there be any trouble. They began to walk through the cool, stone pathways that were illuminated only by more glowing lightstone.

Luka navigated using his memory and supplanted that knowledge with old maps he had drawn himself years ago, leading Frey through countless twists and turns and surprisingly steep uphill climbs. Some tunnels which weren’t in frequent use lacked proper lighting, but Luka came prepared with two fist-sized orbs that they held to brighten their way. Every so often he would point out where they currently were in relation to the rest of the mountain or recount a story about his previous expeditions, like how he once got lost for an entire afternoon in one section of the tunnels before realizing he was going in circles. Frey absorbed every word that came out of Luka’s mouth, no matter how inane or frivolous. They continued to walk for quite some time until Luka’s face lit up and he dashed ahead.

What Frey saw before him was a medium sized cavern filled with water that glowed in a few spots, giving it an ethereal and calming feel. Luka grinned and stood right at the edge, running his hand through the clear liquid.

“This is one of my favorite places I’ve discovered,” he said. “I placed those lightstones myself years ago, between cracks in the lake’s floor. I wanted to use more but my father began to get suspicious of me always asking for new orbs.” A sad smile appeared on his face as he remembered days long past.

“It’s beautiful,” Frey murmured, eyes focused on the gently swirling pool.

The pale light from the depths of the reservoir filtered upward to its surface, creating a beautiful gradient of blues that cast shifting patterns of waves along the walls and in Frey’s eyes.

_ Ah _ , Luka thought.  _ So that’s what they reminded me of _ . He couldn’t put his finger on it at the time, but now that he had his memories back, realized he always associated Frey’s eyes with the hidden lake when it was illuminated.

“Maybe the next time you visit I’ll have added more lights,” he said quickly, taking Frey’s hand and leading them through another set of tunnels.

They continued to ascend, one of the other pit stops being a tunnel that led directly outside the mountain, a perilous and fatal drop off if one were to accidentally slip. But the view was unparalleled, allowing one to see almost over the tops of the farthest peaks. Rien looked like a toy, merely tiny specks of color far beneath them

Luka was just about to start leading them back down when the sunlight caught a slick sheen on the tunnel walls. He paused, placing a hand against the cool rock, surprised when it came away wet. Without a word, he began following the trail through tunnels he hadn’t explored before, struggling as they got narrower and eventually becoming completely vertical tubes at some points. Luka couldn’t hold back his curiosity, certain that in the past the tunnels were always completely dry. As if possessed, he pursued the mystery and began to climb upward. Frey followed behind silently, making up for his lack of skill with brute strength alone.

They climbed until their fingers cramped and their muscles were sore, sweating from exertion, but Luka was only spurred on by the far-off sound of rushing water. He was positive they were far above any point he had previously gone to, quite possibly higher than  _ anyone  _ had been inside the mountain before. Luka finally crawled through a tight crack in the rocks, only to poke his head out under a spray of icy cold water. He scrambled through to the side, pressing himself up against the wall to avoid getting completely soaked.

The sound of running water was now deafening as he stared in amazement at the surge that came through the rocks above his head, flooding the lower half of the tunnel that sloped slightly downward like a slide, a bright opening into nothingness ahead of them. Frey emerged shortly afterward, expression betraying his immense displeasure at being drenched. Luka couldn’t help but grin like a madman as he slowly worked his way down the tunnel, extremely careful not to lose his footing and get swept away by the current. He gasped in awe as they stepped out onto a small outcrop of rock, watching as the water disappeared over the edge.

“We’re at the top of the waterfall!” Luka screamed in delight.

He stood up straight with his arms out, feeling the strong, cold wind against his body, splashing him with errant streaks of water. Small patches of vegetation grew by the stream and even along the face of the cliff, bunches of pale pink that swayed in the breeze.  _ Roses _ , he thought, marveling at their wild beauty and the tenacity it took to grow in such harsh conditions. Frey knelt close to the rock, immediately worried for Luka’s safety.

“Be careful,” he said sharply, pushing back his wet hair that was plastered to his forehead.

Blatantly disregarding Frey’s warning, Luka crawled over to the edge and peeked his head out. He could barely see anything through the dense mist that surrounded them, but his eyes followed the flow of the water as it disappeared endlessly into the clouds below. Frey scowled and grabbed him around the waist, dragging them both backward. He was about to tell Luka off again when the youth turned in his arms and knocked him flat on his back, giddy with laughter from their discovery or the lack of oxygen to his brain from the high altitude. They lay still for several moments, catching their breath and resting their aching bodies.

Luka sat up first and moved over to a patch of wild roses, examining them with a melancholic expression. He couldn’t help but be reminded of his last moments with his twin brother, arguing over a stupid dare. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes and his heart constricted painfully when a sweet smelling bloom was tucked behind his ear.

“Looks good,” Frey murmured appreciatively, although his face was impassive as ever.

Luka blushed furiously, still caught fully unaware whenever Frey did anything uncharacteristically romantic. He scrubbed at his face with his sleeve and beamed at Frey, not wanting to show him any more sad expressions. Luka knew the general probably had no idea as to the significance of the pink flowers among his people, but the gesture still filled him with unparalleled joy.

By that time the sun was already preparing to dip below the horizon, so Luka quickly picked two more perfect blossoms and stored both in his pack before motioning toward the cavern entrance. It took them several grueling hours to descend the mountain, although moving downward was considerably easier than the original upward climb. Once they were finally back inside the palace, Luka’s entire body felt boneless and his limbs shook like his favorite pudding.

“ _ Where have you two been? _ ” Kyro roared, waiting for them in the throne room.

He had noticed them missing earlier in the afternoon but couldn’t sense them anywhere in the city and didn’t have time to go on a wild goose hunt while he had other important tasks to attend to. Kyro and Tristan paled when they noticed the state they were in, waterlogged and dead on their feet, covered in dirt that had been reduced to mud and small cuts or scrapes. Luka wordlessly faced his brother’s wrath and reached into his bag, placing one rose into his hand.

“Peace offering.”

“You climbed the mountain?  _ To the top of the waterfall? _ ” Kyro shrieked, unable to hide the incredulousness in his voice. “A-are you aware of how much needless danger you put yourself in? Unbelievable-” he sputtered, face frozen half in anger and half in amazement. Of  _ course  _ Luka went to climb the mountain tunnels; he couldn’t believe he had forgotten the lesson Tristan taught him all those years ago: that idiots like to run away to high places.

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” Luka mumbled, ashamed for once again causing his brother grief. “I promise I’ll try to be on my best behavior from now on, but right now, I have to make one more delivery and then I just  _ really  _ need to sleep.”

Before Kyro could say anything else, Luka dragged Frey along with him back down to the palace catacombs, retrieving the second rose and placing it at the feet of his brother’s statue. After a moment of silent prayer, they returned to the suite. On the brink of passing out from exhaustion, Luka ended up falling asleep the moment he stripped and stepped into the warm bathing pool in the connected bathroom that was already filled with aromatic water, leaving Frey to take care of his unconscious body and carry him back to the bed.

Luka slept as if he were dead until Frey gently shook him awake the following morning, pale rays of sunlight beginning to creep into the room.

“Luka, you need to get up soon,” he said quietly.

Luka muttered unintelligibly, attempting to roll over and ignore Frey, but the general was persistent.

“Your brother has forgiven a lot of things but I don’t think he’ll survive to the end of the day if you aren’t ready for the ceremonies in time.”

When he realized what was scheduled to start in just a few hours, Luka shot up, eyes wide and immediately pumped full of adrenaline.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed.

He groaned from the sudden movement, clutching his stomach that growled in hunger from having skipped dinner the night before. A shudder ran through his body, physically and emotionally unprepared for all the activity that was in store for the day. Used to Luka’s wild and turbulent outbursts, Frey kissed the top of his head and went to the door.

“I’ll bring you something to eat, in the meantime get ready.”

Luka’s heart warmed, giving Frey a glowing smile.

“Thank you,” he said, running over to give him a quick hug before retreating into the bathroom.

Luka washed up at lightning speed, returning to the room to retrieve the clothing that had been prepared in advance for that day. He grinned to himself when he saw the pink rose Frey had given him floating in a shallow basin of water before continuing with his preparations in the bathroom.

Frey waited at the small table in the room reading a new book he swiped from the palace library, having set a covered platter of food aside for Luka. When the prince finally emerged, Frey was stunned speechless at his transformation. He was always naturally attractive, but for the day’s formal proceedings radiated a majestic aura befitting royalty. Until then, even since coming to Rien, Luka had continued to wear the clothing he brought with him from Tieria. It was Frey’s first time seeing him in the colorful and alluring attire of his native kingdom, and the glorious sight left him breathless with a hard lump forming in his throat.

Luka wore a two piece ensemble made from a light, silken material, the shirt a pale peach with metallic gold embellishments woven into the fabric and loose pants the color of off-white eggshells that were gathered right above his ankles. The top was, in fact, the saddest excuse for a shirt Frey had ever seen, exposing the entirety of Luka’s tanned abdomen. If he didn’t have a sheer sash of matching pink and gold draped around his torso and over his shoulder like a sideways cape, Frey probably would have forced him to change outfits entirely.

Gold jewelry accented each part of his body, hanging delicately around his wrists, ankles, and waist. A woven circlet of gold, similar to the one he wore for his birthday, rested against his forehead regally. The only thing familiar was the black choker around Luka’s neck, although now it appeared a bit out of place. His fashion choices aside, the most striking part about his look was the vibrant make-up he had applied around his eyes: smoky black liner with a small upturned flick at the corners that was brightened by shimmering pink and gold pigments on his eyelids. Coupled with his luminous eyes, the effect was a devastating and sensual stare that burned Frey to his core.

Luka spun in a circle and laughed lightly, striking a valiant pose.

“How do I look?” he asked, confident in his own appeal but still caring about what Frey thought.

Frey was unable to control himself as he suddenly appeared in front of Luka, roughly grabbing his chin and tilting it upward to kiss him deeply. Luka melted against him, needing Frey’s arm around his waist for support to stay standing. They were both panting when they broke apart; a crimson flush bloomed on Luka’s face and his eyes were half-lidded.

“There are no words to describe how you look,” Frey said tersely.

He wanted nothing more than to lock the two of them in a room, shutting the world out completely, making Luka submit to him over and over again until there was no distinction between their bodies. The heat in Luka’s face as he gazed up at Frey told him they were of one mind, but regrettably as of that day, Luka was no longer his alone. He belonged to his people, returning to the position he had been born into. A hidden sadness dwelled in the depths of Luka’s eyes as they made do with another passionate kiss before heading out of the room.

“Wait,” Frey said suddenly, causing Luka to pause midstep.

Frey plucked the rose out of its watery bath, giving it a light shake before tucking it behind Luka’s ear.

“Now you are ready,” he declared.

Luka smiled, exuding a radiant glow that outclassed the entire supply of lightstone in existence. He took Frey’s hand and shoved a large bread roll filled with a savory stuffing into his mouth as they left to find Kyro and Tristan.


	17. Chapter 17

The two kings were waiting by the palace entrance in a group with the Royal Advisors and other important officials. They would all be heading out in a large procession to the open city square in front of the palace where all the citizens were gathered, eagerly awaiting the words of their king. Kyro let out a breath of relief when he saw the pair walking toward them.

“Good, you’re here,” he said, nodding in approval at Luka’s appearance.

Kyro and Tristan were also finely dressed, both commanding attention and respect but in two different eye-catching ways. The King of Rien was covered in rich scarlet and gold, his eyes made up in a similar manner to Luka’s but more fierce and intense. His aura exuded power and masculinity, striking awe into the hearts of all who looked upon him. Meanwhile, the King of Tieria was dressed slightly more conservatively in sheer but modest robes of lavender and silver that covered most of his body. He glowed as if he was infused with moonlight, pale golden hair woven intricately with fine silver thread and to Frey’s surprise, the pink mountain rose Luka had given Kyro the night before. His delicate beauty was truly unmatched in either kingdom. Frey frowned imperceptibly when he saw Tristan, wondering why Luka couldn’t dress more moderately as well. The King of Rien grimaced at the general for seemingly no apparent reason, causing Frey to glare back at him.

“You couldn’t have worn something...less depressing?” Kyro sighed.

Frey looked down at his usual pristine black military uniform and longsword hanging by his side, raising an eyebrow by a hair.

“By my standards I am presentable and am dressed appropriately, to respond effectively if anything were to go awry. Is that not enough?”

He looked toward Luka for confirmation, who gave him a bright smile in response.

“You look perfect,” he said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

Luka couldn’t honestly imagine Frey wearing the more scandalous fashion of Rien, although his mind wandered dangerously as such images floated into his head. Kyro made a disgusted sound and threw his hands up in defeat, muttering to himself before giving the signal for the group to head out.

The weather was fair and clear, by all counts they couldn’t have asked for a more ideal day. The steps leading up to the palace curved upward on two sides with a circular overhang protruding outward in the middle. Kyro walked to the center of the stage and spoke in a powerful voice after calming the cheering crowd.

“My people, it is good to be back in Rien with an abundance of wonderful news. I’m certain the most important one has already made its way through the kingdom as an unbelievable rumor. On this most joyous of days, I could not be happier to confirm it,” he paused, raising his arm outward and turning back to the line of warriors hiding Luka from view. “Rien, your prince and my youngest brother, Prince Luka Emir Ashai, has returned to us!”

On cue, Luka stepped forward through the guards and switched places with Kyro at the center of the platform, overwhelmed by the deafening applause and cries. As he looked through the near endless crowd, barely able to focus on some of the closest people, he could see tear-streaked but overjoyed faces looking up at him. He held a slightly trembling hand up to calm the masses so that he could finally speak.

“Rien,” he began, preventing his voice from breaking by sheer strength of will. “I have been lost for nearly three years. Since- Since the night my family and the peace of our people were taken from us.” Luka’s hands tightened to fists at his side, steeling himself with the motion. “I managed to escape into the mountains during the chaos and ended up in the lands of our attackers.”

Some angry yells and curses were shouted but Luka quickly held up one hand for silence.

“We know that the tyrant and murderer responsible for the atrocities we suffered has paid for his crimes. I am here to tell you that the people of Tieria are not all like him. After escaping past the mountains, I was found on the edge of death, by a couple who nursed me back to health and cared for me as one of their own.” His voice strengthened and projected farther as he gained confidence, speaking of his grandparents’ love. “I had no memories of who I was yet they questioned neither that nor my foreign appearance, giving me only love and support for the past three years. It is through the kindness and compassion of people like them that I stand here before you today.

“People,” Luka swallowed the painful lump that was forming in his throat before restarting, “People like Frey Blackwood, General of the Tierian Army. Having worked closely with our king to make the vision of Harmony come true, General Blackwood immediately recognized me for who I was when we crossed paths by chance. He saw me...and made it his priority to reunite me with my brother. I owe him a debt larger than I could ever hope to repay, but I hope you will help me in congratulating him as he is awarded for his special services to the kingdom.”

Thunderous applause broke out as Frey stepped forward, face schooled in a perfectly neutral expression, hiding his distaste at momentarily being made the center of attention. Luka tried to blink away the tears in the corners of his eyes and gave Frey a warm smile as he pinned a golden medal bearing Rien’s royal seal to his jacket. The two stepped back, allowing Kyro to once more take center stage.

The next order of business related to the status of Harmony and the mountain pass; Kyro enthusiastically shared their success in Harmony’s establishment and the journey they took through the mountains to return home. He spoke of the bright political and economic future they would be moving toward, asking his people to be understanding and accepting of the travelers who would be coming through, to share with them the beauty and culture of Rien.

This led him to segue into talking about the larger and much discussed relationship between Rien and Tieria, and by extension his relationship with Tristan. Kyro explained that although the two of them were devoted to each other, their kingdoms and people were always to be put first. However, their alliance meant that Rien’s interests were now Tieria’s, and vice versa. Neither would act against the other’s welfare and were promised to come to each other’s aid in times of trouble, as well as enacting a cultural and economic exchange to advance both kingdoms. For Rien this meant sharing their wealth of aura knowledge and soulstone technology while Tieria would utilize its size and international influence to protect and promote Rien on a wider scale.

Tristan was given the chance to speak next, the crowd falling silent as they looked upon the foreign king for the first time, captivated by his celestial elegance and grace.

“People of Rien,” he said clearly in an equally commanding and engaging voice. “Thank you for agreeing to open your arms to Tieria. I have and will spend the rest of my lifetime undoing past injustices and preventing future ones from ever coming to pass. I, Tristan Crane, King of Tieria, love your king wholeheartedly and as such, want to love and understand you all as well. I hope that you can find the mercy to accept me and my people, if not now, then at least one day in the future.”

Warm cheers rose up from the crowd, clapping fiercely in respect for the foreign king. The last item on the agenda was Kyro and Tristan’s public marriage ceremony, following Rien traditions. According to the customs, the ritual was to be conducted at midday, when the sun was at its peak and shining directly overhead. A large statue was brought out and placed between them, carved completely out of glistening soulstone. It was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship: a lifelike stag that looked like it could jump away at any moment standing on a base of roses whose petals were carved so thin, they appeared translucent with delicate veins. The creature’s body was decorated with hundreds of stars, each point in the constellations inlaid with a lightstone pearl that caused it to sparkle in the sunlight.

Kyro and Tristan each put a hand on the statue, saying their individual vows and answering the official profession of their union while filling the soulstone with their aura. The crowd reacted as they felt Kyro’s dominant aura coalescing in the air, but were surprised to feel a second, not as forceful but still impressive, aura that could only belong to the King of Tieria. They murmured in approval, watching the lightstone in the statue glow with so much power it was almost blinding, even in the daytime.

The soulstone statue was an ancient Rien wedding practice, to be kept in the couple’s home as a protective talisman. Superstition dictated that if the statue were to sustain any damage, it would foretell bad luck and misfortune upon the couple. On the contrary, the more love and aura the statue absorbed, the more blessed the pair would be.

Luka watched the ceremony with a strained smile that didn’t reach his eyes, tamping down the envy that bubbled dangerously in the pit of his stomach. He desperately wanted the same happiness Kyro and Tristan had for himself and Frey. He unconsciously gripped his wrist with one hand, nails digging painfully into his skin, forcing himself to reel in his emotions. A bit of tension left his body when Frey’s shoulder brushed almost imperceptibly against his, but Luka couldn’t completely fight back the wave of heartache surging within him. The Tierians currently visiting Rien were to leave the following morning. Their time together was almost up.

Once all the ceremonies had been concluded, the city square turned into one massive celebration. The palace brought out a near endless supply of food and drink for the people to enjoy and jubilant music echoed through the streets; the sounds of joy drifted on the wind and straight up to the heavens. Luka found himself being constantly dragged into conversations or rounds of dancing, thankful that his people were so glad to have him back, but irritated for each second he spent away from Frey.

He finally forcefully excused himself from the merriment to look for the surly general, tracking him to a quiet walkway that led to a bridge overlooking a peaceful stream formed by the waterfall’s flow.

“Frey!” he called out, breathless as he ran directly into him.

Frey opened his arms instinctively, embracing the prince as they crashed into each other. Luka’s eyes glittered, illuminating with enchantment as they were bathed in the cool moonlight.

“I am  _ so  _ fucking sick of parties,” he complained, hiding his face against Frey’s neck.

The general let out a low chuckle, petting his head calmly.

“What’s this, the young Prince hates parties and fun? I must be rubbing off on you,” he teased.

Luka groaned, unable to come up with a proper defense. He was truly tired of all the nonstop socializing from the past month, ready to spend some time as a hermit and devoting himself to growing as an individual. However, that was only if Frey was by his side. His heart squeezed painfully and he trembled slightly at the constant sense of foreboding and loneliness in the back of his mind, tightening his arms around Frey’s waist. Frey looked down to see the fear and apprehension pooling in Luka’s eyes, manifesting as teardrops that threatened to fall at any moment.

Frey leaned in to kiss Luka so tenderly, it felt like their very souls were brushing against each other. Luka closed his eyes, causing the tears to trail down his cheeks as he was enveloped in the only warmth in the world that made him feel safe.

“What do you need from me?” Frey murmured in his ear.

“Stay with me tonight,” Luka cried softly. _ And every night _ , he kept himself from saying.

“As you wish.”

They returned to Frey’s room in a frantic whirlwind of desperation, barely shutting the door behind them before attacking each other mercilessly. Luka caught Frey’s lips in his teeth, biting and tearing until the metallic taste of blood touched his tongue. He shuddered as he felt the familiar pressure of strong fingertips trailing down his spine, claiming every inch of his body. Frey carried Luka over to the bed, roughly throwing him on top of the sheets then pinning him down, gripping his hips so hard that brutal handprints would surely be left behind.

Half of their clothes were already tossed on the floor but Frey was suddenly grateful for Rien’s eccentric sense of fashion, incredibly aroused by Luka’s tight top that was revealing yet still left some things to the imagination. He leaned over and kissed the planes of each abdominal muscle that quivered beneath him while simultaneously working several fingers inside Luka to loosen him up. Luka gasped for breath under Frey’s assault, running his hands through the soft strands of straight black hair that had long since come undone and biting down on his lip to keep himself from crying out in pleasure.

Not a moment too soon, Frey sheathed himself deep inside of Luka, filling him up completely. Luka’s mind went blank from the heat he could feel moving within him, watching Frey looking down at him with a ravenous expression, eyes bright and wild like a predator in a feeding frenzy. He savored the deep connection between their bodies, knowing that Frey’s shape was an indelible mark on his heart. Still, it only meant that the deeper the imprint, the larger the void left behind when he would find himself inevitably empty and alone. Tears streamed down Luka’s face as he greedily accepted all of Frey, hopelessly wishing that the sun would somehow blink out of existence so that it would fail to rise the next morning.

They held each other through the night, as Frey kept his promise to stay with him. It was Luka, in the end, who couldn’t bear to remain in his arms. Unable to sleep despite Frey’s warmth around him - or perhaps being driven mad by it, constantly reminded of the fact that it had an expiration date that was drawing ever nearer - Luka blindly grabbed the first article of clothing he could find in the dark room to cover his naked body and alighted down the hall.

Frey watched silently as the one who held his heart slipped out of his grasp after once again having backed himself into a corner. He could guess at the thoughts that drove Luka away from his side, and understood why the damaged prince made the choices he did. But Frey had his pride, too, and was ultimately hurt by Luka’s lack of faith in him. However, he knew very well what pursuing Luka entailed, having arrogantly declared that he  _ could  _ take the hurt and pain. And so he would, if suffering meant being able to continue receiving his love. Luka was free to make his decisions, but that wouldn’t stop Frey from making his. The general was more than capable of harboring his own selfish wishes and it was high time he acted upon then. Face set in unshakable determination, he tugged on a pair of pants and set out into the dark palace.

Luka had escaped to his old room, locking the door behind him before crawling into his own bed and drawing the covers up over his head. The Tierian King and his visiting entourage, Frey included, were to leave early in the morning. No matter how disrespectful or awful he was being, he refused to leave his room to see them off. He knew he was being terrible and that Frey would be incredibly angry with him, but he didn’t think his heart could take the agony of watching him go. Otherwise, he might lose control again and do something he would regret. Curled up into himself within a ball of darkness, Luka cried himself to sleep, hugging himself tightly when he realized the wrinkled shirt he had pulled on was one of Frey’s.

A loud banging jolted him awake, causing him to sit up in surprise and look around in a sleep-deprived daze as anxiety flooded his nervous system, acutely aware of how Zion and Quinn must have felt all those years ago. Luka slowly relaxed when he heard his brother’s familiar and antagonizing voice.

“Luka Emir Ashai, you are in  _ so  _ much trouble,” he shouted, continuing to pound his fists on the door.

Luka groaned as he tried to get his bearings, running a hand through the wild mess of his hair. Judging from the strong sunlight coming in through the tall windows, he guessed the Tierians were long gone. A solid lump in his throat made it difficult to swallow as he felt his insides freeze over, a lethal numbness quickly washing over him, threatening to shut his body down.

“Not now, Kyro,” he said through gritted teeth, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. “ _ Please _ .” Luka wanted nothing more than to return to the suffocating darkness under his blankets, not to emerge for at least a week.

“Whatever happened to ‘ _ I promise to do better _ ’ and ‘ _ I’ll be on my best behavior, _ ’ hm? Are you a liar now as well as a rude, embarrassment of a prince?”

Kyro imitated him in a mocking tone, causing a vein to pulse on Luka’s forehead as he tried to suppress his growing rage.

“Well, your wake up call starts now, whether you want it or not. Open the door and come greet your new private tutor before I break it down. And don’t think for a  _ second  _ I won’t, just because I’m the one who has to pay for it.”

Kyro did have a history of breaking several doors in Lorelai castle over the years - earning himself a spot on the carpenter guild’s frequent customer list - but Tristan graciously never made him pay for the replacements himself. Luka angrily got out of bed, stomping over to the door with unmasked ire on his tear stricken face, eyes appearing like they were still painted from the red that rimmed them. He unlocked it and yanked it open, preparing to shout his response as well as several choice profanities and slam the door shut once more, not caring about leaving a horrible first impression on whoever his new instructor was.

“Fuck off, Kyro! I can’t deal with any of your stupid bullshit rehabilitation plans right now-”

Luka’s words died in his throat as a pair of icy eyes stared at him, narrowed and piercing, as if boring into the depths of his dark and wretched soul. He took a step backward in surprise, unable to form coherent thoughts or make sense of the situation.

“Wh-what- Why- I-I don’t understand..." he stuttered.

He dropped his gaze to the floor, unable to meet Frey’s eyes. Kyro made a clucking sound in annoyance, absolutely at his limit for getting caught up in their irritating drama.

“ _ I’m _ the one who doesn’t understand why I have to deal with this farce,” he muttered in exasperation. “This presumptuous bastard,” he said as he jerked a finger aggressively toward Frey, “thought he was  _ so  _ important he could just wake up the king - the fucking  _ king _ ! In the middle of the night, who, by the way, was just trying to spend a peaceful night with his husband before saying goodbye to him for who knows how long - and who  _ also  _ happens to be his own damn king, mind you - to  _ demand  _ he be given a high ranking position in the palace. With pay! And lodging! Full benefits!”

Kyro had a crazed look in his eyes as he held himself back from trying to strangle Frey, who neither denied any of the claims nor looked all that perturbed or ashamed, either.

“The audacity!” Kyro seethed, trying to calm himself down. “Anyways, I’m serious about him teaching you. Politics, military tactics, economics, fighting. If he doesn’t earn his keep, he’s out of here. And he’s authorized to use whatever method he feels is most effective, I don’t care. Personally, I hope he beats the shit out of you, then maybe  _ something  _ will get through that thick skull of yours."

He threw his hands up in the air in defeat, wanting to absolve himself of dealing with his tiresome brother for the moment. Those two were currently more trouble than they were worth on their own, so Kyro figured they could spend their time bothering each other instead of him. Kyro was, of course, extremely jealous that the two had found a way to be together in the end when he and Tristan could not, but understood deeply that the crown was the burden he was born to bear. And if he could use that burden to ensure Luka’s happiness - no matter how much he hated Frey’s guts - then it was his duty as an older brother to do so. But although his brother’s happiness was paramount to him, Kyro figured he deserved a little bit of time to sulk and give Luka the cold shoulder.

“So, there. Just stay out of my sight for the time being before I change my mind,” he sighed, waving a hand dismissively as he stalked away.

Luka continued to stand in silence, staring at the ground as he gripped his wrist tightly, heart thundering in his chest. Frey stepped into the room and shut the door behind him with too much force, creating a loud slam that caused Luka to jump. He knew that his calm and impassive demeanor meant he was actually furious, so Luka shook slightly as he felt Frey’s cold gaze rake over his body.

“Is there anything you want to say?” Frey said, his voice like the whisper of a knife against Luka’s neck, deadly and threatening.

“What...what about your positions in Tieria?” Luka asked quietly after some time.

Frey sighed, crossing his arms behind his back in an imposing stance as he answered him.

“I resigned,” he said flatly. “Thankfully His Majesty was kind enough to release me from my duties once I had wrapped up any loose ends.”

Luka’s eyes widened in shock as his head snapped up to look at Frey.

“You  _ what _ ?” he said, incredulous. “When- How could you-  _ Why? _ ”

“ _ Why _ ?” Frey said sharply. “Please, ask  _ yourself  _ that, Prince Luka. But I had decided to retire from my posts as the General of the Tierian army and a Councilman before we left for Harmony.”

Luka’s brain felt like it would melt from trying to understand the present situation.

“I-I don’t understand,” he cried, shaking his head. “Why are you here?”

Round teardrops rolled down his face as he spoke, although deep inside him he knew the answer. But the truth hurt his heart, for he had decided he wouldn’t selfishly tie Frey down for his own sake, yet it had come to pass regardless. Frey exhaled deeply before he spoke.

“Do you...not want me here?” he asked softly, gently cupping Luka’s face and wiping the tears from his cheeks.

Although he spoke clearly, his blue eyes rippled with an emotion that was rarely ever seen associated with the stone-hearted general: fear. The smallest yet most potent seed of doubt that Frey carried within him, was whether or not Luka still wanted him. He refused to give it water or light, but it remained buried deep within him, waiting to one day sprout into a suffocating and choking weed that would strip him of his resolve and once more crush the stronghold of his heart into rubble. Luka shook his head frantically, causing his face to be squished against Frey’s hands.

“No!” he shouted in alarm. “I mean, yes, I do...want you here. More than anything.”

Relief flooded Frey’s system when Luka responded, but hurt and rejection rose up in the place of his initial fear, wondering if he was smothering Luka with his affection.

“Then why didn’t you ask me to stay?”

Luka began crying in earnest, vision blurring through his tears.

“How...how could I ask you to throw away your whole life, your career, your  _ king _ , for someone as b-broken as me?” he sobbed, taking Frey’s hands and lowering them so he could hold them in his own. “I-I thought if I at least took a year to better myself - to  _ control  _ myself - and become a man, one who is  _ worthy  _ of calling you to my side, th-then…”

He shuddered and gasped for breath between sobs, struggling to speak clearly.

“Of c-course I wanted you to stay, so much that I thought I was g-going to die if I saw you leaving,” he sniffed, trying desperately to pull himself together. “But being apart from you for a year was better than risking you leaving forever when you realize it’s a mistake to choose me.” His words trailed off quietly into a painful whisper.

Frey couldn’t help but shake his head and let out a sad and exasperated laugh. He still had a lot of work to do to truly reach through the darkness of Luka’s heart, but at least now they had the rest of their lives to do so. He would continue to carry both their weight until the day that Luka felt strong enough to walk by his side, on his own two feet. Frey knelt down on one knee before him, placing a gentle kiss on his hands as he held them while looking up at his ridiculous crying face.

“It is never a mistake for me to choose you,” he said, the words he once prepared in his heart for Luka’s birthday finally flowing out of him like an unending wave. “Every day I choose you, and every day I’m assured that it’s the right choice. You are my prince, and like the sun, there exists only one of you. I will follow you forever, as it’s too late for me, who has been blinded by your light. You are the only warmth I seek and I will serve you with my dying breath, even if you hate me and try to cast me out. I made a promise to you that no matter what, I will always stay by your side. And that is my own selfish wish that I am burdening you with, but I will not apologize, because I love you too much.”

Luka threw himself at Frey, knocking them both to the ground, crying even harder than before into Frey’s chest. His heart hurt from loving and being loved, and all the complicated pain it brought. But eclipsing that pain was an immeasurable happiness that filled him completely, so much so that he thought he would float away. Luka knew there would still be dark days where he would continue to feel unworthy of Frey’s love and that he would probably hurt him out of weakness, but he had to believe that Frey would be there for him no matter what. He  _ had  _ to believe that he was someone worth fighting for, because that’s the kind of person Frey deserved. And he had to believe that one day, after struggling through the darkness, they would be happy. Not because of how good it would feel to walk in the light of the sun, but because they would be together, side by side.

“I love you, too,” Luka mumbled, kissing Frey with the taste of salt on his lips. “I promise I’ll become someone worthy that you can be proud of.”

“Good,” Frey said, returning the kiss. “I’ll have you know that I’ve never broken a promise so neither should you,” he said, pushing both of them up off the ground.

Frey brushed his fingers through the soft, dark curls of hair, tucking the stray lock behind Luka’s ear and gently kissing the tender spot by his left eye. He used his sleeves to thoroughly wipe the tears from his face, leaving it ruddy and endearing. Luka smiled at Frey, golden eyes shining like the newly born sun appearing after a thunderstorm.

“Speaking of promises,” Luka said, the unmistakable trace of mischief in his voice. “I hope my brother is paying you well because I seem to recall you owing me  _ quite  _ a lot of money, about four months of it, in fact.” He grinned devilishly, leaning in to whisper in Frey’s ear. “I shouldn’t have to remind you of how expensive my rates are.”

“What a shame, I don’t believe I’m being paid nearly enough to cover such a debt,” Frey mused, a small smirk on his lips. “Would you accept other forms of payment? Such as, my body, perhaps?”

“Hm, I can make an exception, if you think you can satisfy me.”

Frey growled in response, a feral glint in his eyes as he knocked Luka flat on his back, pinning him down with his whole body and kissing him mercilessly. Luka laughed and held Frey’s face as he kissed him back, feeling the weight on top of him as a reminder that they existed together, in that moment. He thought that if he could spend the rest of his days waking up beside this man, the man he loved more than anything else in the world, then it would be nice if the sun never failed to rise after each dark night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically the end of the main text, the next chapter is kind of a hybrid epilogue/bonus future chapter.


	18. Chapter 18

The double doors to the throne room burst open with a loud bang, alarming all the officials that were scurrying around and conferring with the king who was situated at the end of the hall. Two tall men walked imperiously down the length of the room, the slightly shorter of the pair in front and leading the way. All eyes were drawn to their imposing figures, many bowing low upon recognizing who stood before them. When they stopped in front of the throne, the King of Rien lazily looked up from the report he was reading, only to break out into a grin when he saw who the unannounced guests were.

“Luka!” Kyro shouted, standing up to receive his younger brother.

The Prince of Rien had matured into a beautiful young man, now fully matching Kyro’s own height but still of a slender build. His youthful and soft lines had hardened into sharper angles that gave him a regal and majestic air, embodying the grace and elegance of power. The man standing behind Luka, in his signature monochromatic attire, was none other than the former general of the Tierian army. Kyro inwardly cursed the man who looked almost exactly as he had the last time they saw each other.  _ How does this bastard not age? _ he thought in irritation. Kyro clapped his brother on the shoulder, taking in all the changes he had missed over the years.

“Look at how much you’ve grown,” he murmured, feeling quite a bit emotional over seeing his younger brother at an age he once thought was impossible. “I can’t believe you haven’t shown your face around here for five whole years! Would it have killed you to send word in advance if you were coming home?”

Kyro ruffled Luka’s hair, smiling as the prince bristled under his touch like a wild animal. Luka swatted his brother’s hand away, carefully smoothing out the dark locks that curled gently around his face. Although Kyro was smiling and genuinely happy, Luka was shocked at how fatigued he looked, as if he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks.

“It’s not much of a surprise visit if you’re expected,” he said sharply.

Kyro chuckled, heart warmed by his younger brother’s endearingly prickly shell that hid a soft interior.

“Yes, yes, it’s great to see the two of you no matter the occasion. Although I assume there  _ is  _ a specific reason you came back so suddenly?”

“Indeed, Brother,” Luka said, voice even but devoid of emotion, his eyes shining hard like yellow jewels. “It’s been a long five years away from Rien, but I have decided to return for good.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news,” Kyro said, quite pleased to have his only family back, even if Luka was a two for one deal with his old arch nemesis.

All the people of Rien acted like one large family to the king, but he couldn’t shake the loneliness and distance his position demanded. Coupled with the fact that his heart lay elsewhere, Kyro spent a great deal of time devoting himself to his work. Since running the small kingdom was actually not that difficult, he began a deep dive into researching and experimenting with soulstone and seeing what kind of inventions he could come up with. Kyro barely ever even slept in the king’s chambers, staying up all night only to fall asleep directly in his office.

“Perfect timing too, it’s been a while since we’ve had a reason to celebrate around here. I’ll make sure the kitchen throws together a generous feast tonight with all your favorites.”

“I think you’ll want to up the scale a little,” Luka said, inclining his head the slightest bit. “I’m really not one to make a fuss but I feel my coronation deserves a bit more than that, don’t you?”

“ _ Excuse me? _ ” Kyro said, his smile frozen on his face, wondering if he was mishearing things.

“I’ve returned home to receive your abdication, Kyro. I’m here for the throne.”

Luka looked almost bored as a deafening hush fell over the great hall, not a single person within earshot daring to move a muscle or even breathe. Kyro remained quiet for some time before he broke the silence; a dark and threatening rumble came from within him, gradually growing into a sharp fit of laughter. His eyes narrowed to dangerous points as he sized his brother up, realizing what game he was playing.

Kyro suddenly grabbed Luka by the collar of his shirt, causing a chain reaction of movement throughout the room. Frey immediately gripped Kyro’s wrist in response, his other hand resting on the hilt of his sword, while the warriors standing at attention along the length of the room sprung forward, sabers drawn and pointed at the two intruders.

“You’ve been practicing,” Kyro said, his eyes flashing dangerously. “But what’s in my head is none of your concern, so stay  _ out  _ of it, Luka.”

He could feel the slightest bit of pressure in the back of his mind as Luka’s aura carefully poked and prodded, trying to access his memories. Kyro summoned his own aura and ripped the foreign tendrils to shreds, scattering the attack as if it were a pile of dust. He roughly shoved his brother back, causing him to stumble against Frey, then sneered at the pathetic attempt at espionage.

“You’re a hundred years too early to come at me, and you think you can become king?”

Luka struggled to maintain a straight face but his eyes burned and the corners of his lips tugged downward.

“Go cool your head and reflect on your actions before you  _ really  _ make me mad. We’re done here.”

Kyro motioned wordlessly to a few of the warriors who made up his personal guard, sweeping out of the throne room with them trailing behind him. Luka made a rude gesture at his back before turning to Frey, scowling.

“Why can’t he just be _honest_ for once and not so fucking stuck up?” he snapped. “Makes me wonder why I even bothered to come and try to save him from his miserable self.”

“You of all people know how difficult your brother is,” Frey said calmly. “None of us expected him to go without a fight. He simply cares too much.”

Luka groaned, grabbing Frey’s arm and dragging him out of the hall. They had considered the many different approaches to the subject on their way back to Rien, and Luka’s first thought was to privately and gently bring up the matter with his brother. However, he was certain that Kyro would say no regardless and immediately end the discussion. At that point even if Luka wanted to secretly find out how he truly felt, Kyro would probably remain suspicious and on guard.

So he decided that if he came on strong and caught him by surprise, perhaps his defenses would be lowered enough to sift through his memories. He was so close too, before being ejected from Kyro’s mind. Luka sighed, thinking that perhaps they should just leave. Frey deciphered the complicated expression on the prince’s face and drew him into a warm embrace.

“I know what you’re thinking, but by being here you have already decided to see this through. He’ll only open his heart to you, Luka. Kyro will understand when he realizes the sacrifice you’re making for him.”

Luka sniffed, hugging Frey tightly. He loved his brother and would do anything for him - his return to Rien being proof enough - but when the party in need of saving refused to be helped, it made being gracious and selfless all the more difficult.

Seven years ago, Frey had renounced his ties to Tieria and assumed the position of Luka’s personal tutor, keeping his promise to remain by the prince’s side. For two years they stayed in Rien, happily greeting the sun every morning in each other’s arms. Luka resumed his academic studies as well as his physical training, both greatly advanced by Frey’s wealth of experience. However, when he turned twenty-one, his desire to travel the world with the one he loved grew irrepressible. Luka begged his brother to give him leave, relentless until Kyro eventually acquiesced. Although he knew how much the decision pained the king, aware of the solitude that would overtake him, Luka was overjoyed to begin a new chapter of his life with Frey.

For five years they explored distant lands and far-off countries, sharing every moment of each new experience with one another. It wasn’t until Frey’s communication with his two most frequent correspondents brought to light the bitter reality of Kyro’s situation. He exchanged letters regularly with the King of Tieria, both sides keeping the other up to date on their lives. Tristan’s kingdom was flourishing and experiencing an unprecedented time of peace, thanks to his and Kyro’s many efforts. However, the king began to speak more of his personal problems as of late.

Kyro would visit him in Lorelai as often as he could, sometimes spending weeks of traveling only for a few days by each other’s side. Tristan knew their distance was taking a toll on him, especially since Kyro was always the one doubling down on his work to make time to go. As much as the King of Tieria wanted to share the burden, it just wasn’t feasible for him to leave his duties for the same length of time. And Kyro never complained, any fatigue or grievances vanishing the moment he could once again wrap his arms around Tristan.

Eventually, Tristan confided in Frey a distressing secret: Kyro had confessed that he wished Luka were king instead of him. Although he was only making an off-handed comment at the time, Tristan knew the feeling came from deep within his heart, growing in urgency until he couldn’t keep the truth contained any longer. Unsettled by Kyro’s burgeoning instability, Frey needed a second opinion.

Over the two years he spent in Rien, he had forged an amicable but professional bond with the Commander of Rien’s warriors, Tessa Moon. Frey was able to keep tabs on what was happening in Rien at all times through her thorough and comprehensive reports. He only had to ask once for her to reveal in great detail how her king was faring. By her recount, not well. Kyro was growing more and more restless, unable to remain calm or relax even the slightest bit. All he could focus on to keep himself distracted during the times in between his trips to Lorelai was work, and an overabundance of it.

He busied himself in every way possible, maximizing the efficiency and operation of his kingdom by spending long, sleepless nights reviewing, restructuring, and reorganizing each moving piece. He had done his part to manage his kingdom flawlessly, allowing it to function smoothly even without his constant watch, but just because Kyro now had the capacity to visit Lorelai more frequently, didn’t mean Tristan had the time to receive him.

It immediately became apparent that he would have to find other diversions to occupy his mind, so Kyro turned to the research and development of aura and soulstone. Just as unhealthily, he would spend late nights in his study pursuing knowledge or experimenting -  _ anything  _ to fill the long and empty hours of the day he was forced to spend alone. Tessa and everyone else closest to him were distraught by his deteriorating condition; their king was slowly wasting away, a slave to his harmful obsessions that only served as a replacement for his heartache.

When Frey shared this information with his partner, Luka knew what he had to do. Kyro had spent the past decade devoting himself to everyone around him, even granting Luka five glorious but selfish years of freedom. It was time someone did the same for him, to set Kyro free of the responsibilities and obligations that chained him down and kept him from truly being happy. The only problem was, he would never willingly relinquish his duty, especially if he thought doing so would merely transfer that weight to his brother. But Luka was determined to save him from suffering alone, no matter the cost. After all Kyro had done for him, he owed him that much.

With the singularity of their tense altercation aside, the atmosphere returned to normal and several days were spent peacefully. Kyro wanted to know all about their travels and the interesting things they had seen, barely giving the two a moment alone. However delighted he was to have their company, Luka could tell that there was an emptiness eating away at the king, like a void that drained all the light from his eyes. He saw that Kyro was especially pained whenever he saw Frey doting on him, but would never say anything, only excusing himself from their presence when the pain was too much.

Eventually Luka couldn’t take it anymore, sick of watching his brother act like everything was alright when it clearly wasn’t. He took some time to put his case together, preparing the weapon needed to deliver a mortal blow in the very likely event that Kyro needed more proof to open his eyes to reality. It wasn’t hard to track him down as there were only a few places he frequented, the most obvious one being his study. A soft light filtered into the hallway from under the door, the telltale sign that even that late at night, Kyro was still awake. He wished Frey were there to give him moral support, but knew this was something he had to do on his own. Plus, Frey’s presence would probably only make things worse, reminding Kyro all too sharply of who was missing from his side. Luka knocked on the door loudly before opening it without a second thought.

Kyro sat at his desk with his head propped up on one hand, flipping through a thick volume. The lightstone lamp cast an uneven glow across his face, highlighting the dark shadows under his eyes and his sallow complexion.

“Mm, what do you need, Luka?” he asked without looking up from the book.

Luka was always impressed and quite frankly baffled at how his brother managed to maintain incredibly organized and neat personal spaces, despite how lazy and careless he could be. The study, while completely packed with countless books, papers, and piles of raw soulstone, was orderly and surprisingly uncluttered, everything in a specific place. Luka stepped into the room and around a stack of books nearly half his height before clearing his throat.

“Kyro, I meant what I said before. Let me have the throne.”

Kyro slammed his hands on the desk, causing Luka to flinch.

“You’re still going on about that?” he growled, expression darkening like a sudden rainstorm. “What makes you think you’re ready to be king? Or that you’re even capable of caring for an entire kingdom?”

“I’m not,” Luka admitted. “But I won’t be bearing the weight alone, I have Frey-”

Kyro’s eyes flashed dangerously, his fists curled tightly to prevent from shaking.

“Oh, so just because you have the legendary Frey Blackwood by your side, you think you can do anything?”

“That’s, that’s not what I meant,” he said hotly, throat tightening uncomfortably. “Look at yourself, you can’t honestly think how you’ve been carrying on is healthy. How do  _ you  _ expect to care for your people when you don’t even take care of yourself?”

Kyro couldn’t help but laugh, a wild and tortured sound escaping from his lips.

“Rich words coming from you, Luka. I take it your five years of traveling have opened your eyes to the secrets of the world and now you think you know everything? Have you come to save our people from my terrible rule? How noble,” he spat.

Luka bit down on his lip, fighting back imminent tears.  _ Why can’t I say the right thing for once in my life? _ he thought bitterly.

“I-I just want to help you,” he said quietly. “I want you to rely on me as well.”

“That’s not how it works,” Kyro sighed. “I promised to take care of you, and that especially doesn’t mean running away from my responsibilities and shoving them onto you.”

“But why  _ not _ ?” Luka pleaded. “You once told me I need you as much as you need me, and it turned out to be the truth. Why can’t you trust  _ me  _ to be there for you like you have always been there for me? I’m twenty-six years old, Kyro. That’s four years older than you were when you became king. I’m not a child anymore.”

Kyro’s lips formed a tight line as he refrained from responding immediately. He was painfully aware of how much his younger brother had grown over the years but that didn’t stop him from wanting to preserve Luka’s happiness, even at the cost of his own.

“Well, I’m still your older brother  _ and  _ your king, so you will put a stop to this foolish notion at once.” He covered his face with his hands, letting out another desperate sigh. “I love you, Luka. I’m just trying to do what’s best for you.”

“And I love you, Kyro,” Luka cried softly, tears rolling freely down his cheeks. “Which is why it’s my turn to do what’s best for  _ you _ .”

Luka tossed a few sheets of paper on Kyro’s desk, wrinkled from being clutched tightly in his fist.

“What is this?” he hissed, frowning as he picked them up and examined their contents under the light.

Kyro’s face blanched, turning into an impassive mask of stone as he read the names that covered the papers. He recognized each and every one of the signatures, from his entire cabinet of advisors to all the warriors of Rien he had grown up with, having trained side by side as kids.

“What. Is.  _ This? _ ” he repeated, dangerous cracks forming in his calm exterior.

The pressure in the room spiked as a palpable wave of aura crashed into Luka, knocking the air out of him. He felt Kyro’s aura grip his entire being like an iron fist, crushing him excruciatingly slowly but not enough to break him. Kyro moved in front of Luka, his eyes sparking like a crack of thunder setting an entire field ablaze.

“So. You’re resorting to treason, is that it?”

His voice sent a visceral shiver down Luka’s spine, as if an icicle was being directly scraped down the exposed bone. Luka knew he had done something incredibly stupid and dangerous, but with Kyro’s hardheadedness, there was no other way to make him see. Although it was unofficially done, Luka had gathered the support of everyone required to force Kyro to step down as king, throwing their weight behind Luka’s own claim to the throne. All he had to do was make a formal challenge and Kyro would be powerless to stop him from without resorting to bloodshed. And everyone knew Kyro would not fight his brother, even at the cost of his own life. The scattered papers were traitorous knives held at his throat by the people he considered his friends. Anger and rage burned in the pit of his stomach, the betrayal hurting worse than any physical wound he had ever sustained before.

“ _ Why _ , Luka?” he cried, tears streaming down his tormented face. “I’ve tried  _ so  _ hard, sacrificed  _ everything  _ for our people, for  _ you _ . And this is how you repay me? By turning my friends, my entire  _ kingdom _ , against me?  _ What did I do to deserve this much hate? _ ”

Fear gripped Luka’s heart as he struggled to breathe, once more reminded of how frightening it was to be on the receiving end of Kyro’s wrath. Fighting against the fatal strain of the king’s aura, he used all his strength to wrap his arms around his brother, hugging him tightly.

“Y-you’re wrong,” he coughed. “It’s not hate, Kyro. It’s  _ love _ . Your friends, your people,  _ me _ . We love you so much that we can’t stand by and watch you break yourself into pieces for everyone else’s sake.”

Kyro tensed up in Luka’s arms, as if he were trying to physically deflect his brother’s words from reaching his hardened heart.

“We know how much of yourself you’ve given these past ten years, until there’s practically nothing left of you. And we know it’s because the rest of you isn’t even here.”

Luka gave Kyro a sad smile between his tears.

“You don’t belong here anymore, Kyro,” he whispered. “You should be spending the rest of your life happily, by  _ his  _ side. It’s where you’re supposed to be. You’ve given enough,  _ more  _ than enough. Now it’s my turn to look after you.”

Kyro’s resolve, which had more hairline fractals than the most intricate spider web, finally shattered into dust. He hugged Luka in a crushing embrace, exchanging the disembodied and painful squeeze of his aura for one of tangible warmth. His entire body shook from the heart wrenching sobs that escaped his soul. Kyro had been fighting for so long to be everyone’s pillar of strength, practically brainwashing himself into believing he was capable of holding the weight of the entire kingdom on his back, when he wasn’t even whole to start with. Not without Tristan. All he wanted, in the deepest, most hidden part of his desires, was to be told that he had done enough. To be told that he could finally rest, at ease in the knowledge that not only had he done enough, but that things would be okay without him.

“Thank you,” he cried, shuddering from the wave of pent-up emotions that flowed out of him. Kyro repeated those two words over and over again, as if with each recitation, the weight dragging down his heart grew a little lighter, until it was finally free - free to fly away from the familiar mountains of his birth to his new home, where the other half of him was waiting.

***

Although Kyro wanted nothing more than to just pack his bags and depart for Lorelai at first light, he couldn’t leave things done halfway in the end. He wanted Luka to be properly prepared for his future as king, leaving nothing up to chance. His brother didn’t deserve to be pushed into the ocean without first learning how to swim, taking Kyro’s place in the icy and bottomless waters, and Rien needed to be assured of her stability. Kyro wouldn’t abdicate for several months, taking the time to involve Luka - who to his discredit was absent for the past five years - in all matters of the state. He also needed the buffer to wrap up any personal loose ends, even making arrangements for Jude and Mila to attend their only grandson’s coronation, as well as to give Tristan ample time to prepare for his move to Lorelai. Anyone with two eyes could see how full of life Kyro suddenly was, and all who were privy to his internal conflict let out a collective breath, glad to see their king and friend once more looking like his old self.

Kyro was relieved at the very least that Frey had indeed taught Luka well, instilling in him a depth of insight on their travels. It didn’t take long for Luka to catch on to things, possessing the same acumen for ruling as his brother. But just because things were progressing smoothly, didn’t mean he actually felt ready to sit on the throne.

Luka’s unease was at its peak the day of his coronation. The reality of his new position was finally catching up to him, and he felt like the full weight of his responsibility would crush him completely. A warm hand on his back caused the dark clouds in his mind to dissipate, filling him with a sense of security. He looked up to see Frey by his side with a rare, true smile on his face.

“You can do this,” he murmured softly, gently kissing the side of Luka’s face.

Frey’s words and calming touch sent a surge of confidence through Luka. He could - and he  _ would _ \- be a great king. For everyone who ever believed in him, for Kyro who sacrificed so much for him, for Frey who chose the cowardly and insecure him every day, and for himself. And when he would have lapses where he would undoubtedly struggle, he knew Frey would stick by him no matter what. With peace radiating in his heart, the long day of ceremonies went off without a hitch and King Luka Ashai’s reign officially began.

Before the grand feast and night of celebrating that followed Luka’s coronation - festivities that would spill through all the streets of Rien and not stop even for the rising sun - truly began, the newly crowned king saw his brother off quietly and without pomp.

“Kyro,” he said quietly, voice heavy with years of unspoken emotion.

“Don’t look so sad on your own coronation day, brat,” Kyro said, ruffling Luka’s soft curls of hair and nearly dislodging his bejeweled diadem. “I’ll be back to visit before you know it, especially if I catch wind that you’re doing a shitty job.”

Luka batted his hand away, growling at still being treated like a kid but unable to put any force behind it, his eyes traitorously stinging with moisture. He was about to open his mouth, a sharp retort on his tongue, when he was pulled bodily into a hug. Luka closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath as he hugged his brother tightly, clinging on as if Kyro would evaporate into thin air.

“Be good, okay?” Kyro said roughly into his ear, fighting back tears of his own.

Luka nodded into his shoulder, straining with difficulty to find his voice.

“I love you, Kyro,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Luka. I know you will be a great king.”

With one final squeeze, Kyro broke away and turned to the taciturn man who had proved himself to be an unshakeable pillar in the lives of the two most important people in his heart.

“Take care of him,” he said with a crooked grin, holding out his hand to Frey.

Frey clasped his forearm and the smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I will. Give my regards to Tristan.”

Kyro nodded before swiftly mounting the old, black warhorse prepped with full saddlebags, finally at his very limit for being away from his husband. Luka watched him ride off until he was an imperceptible speck, heart full of melancholy but knowing that no matter how far apart they were, they would always be there for each other and that their paths would inevitably cross again.

The King of Rien spent the first evening of his rule getting a little too spirited, needing to burn the recent stress and anxiety from his body. Frey carried the disoriented royal up to the cavernous imperial suite, carefully helping him change out of his extravagant and glittering ceremonial clothes. Luka looked around the empty, half-lit room, feeling a bit melancholic over the fact that it probably hadn’t been decorated or shown any signs of warmth since his parents were alive. He vowed to fill it with life and color, as well as make plenty of happy memories there.

“Freeeeeeeeey,” he called, suddenly wondering why he was sitting alone on the massive bed after getting lost in his thoughts.

“I’m here, Your Majesty,” Frey said, chuckling as he walked over from the bathroom and into Luka’s outstretched arms.

His hair was still slightly damp from taking a shower, and Luka inhaled his clean scent with a satisfied sigh.

“I did it,” he said with a grin. “I’m a king! I’m  _ the  _ king, heh. Are you proud of me?”

“Very,” Frey murmured, kissing his forehead. “But most importantly you are  _ my  _ king. And what can this humble subject do for his king?”

Luka snuggled against him like a small animal seeking warmth before his eyes lit up, sparkling with excitement. Frey immediately had a strange sense of foreboding and was proven correct the moment Luka opened his mouth.

“Frey, I want to put it in!” he exclaimed, knocking Frey flat on his back and straddling him, looking down with a wild and wanton expression.

Frey’s eyes widened in utter surprise and he let out an unrestrained laugh, completely caught off guard by his random request.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Luka pouted, banging his fists on Frey’s abdomen with excessive force. “I can make you feel good too,” he sniffed, feeling like his pride had been insulted.

The laughter was quickly cut off by a grunt as Frey was winded by Luka’s inebriated assault. Frey rolled up smoothly and covered his mouth with a deep kiss, holding his face gently and stifling his whimpers.

“If that’s what you want,” he said breathlessly when they broke apart. “My body belongs to you and only you.”

Luka immediately perked up, pushing him down again and attacking his lips ravenously. He unconsciously started to grind against Frey, shuddering as he felt the long, hard length beneath him. Frey watched in amusement as Luka suddenly jumped off the bed, digging through the numerous chests of their belongings that had been brought up, still waiting to be unpacked. He turned around and grinned mischievously when he found what he was looking for: a small bottle of clear liquid. He quickly pulled off his clothes, prompting Frey to do the same, instantly running his hands along the strong, defined lines and contours of bare skin.

Frey leaned back, half propped up on one arm with limpid eyes and a self-assured smirk on his face that provoked Luka to no end. Eager to wipe away his arrogant expression, Luka emptied a gratuitous amount of liquid into his hand, rubbing his fingers together to warm it up. He spread Frey’s legs apart, lifting one over his shoulder and biting down on the powerful muscles before working a slick finger inside him. Luka skillfully stirred him up, drawing from the years of his experiences as well as Frey’s own techniques. He watched as his lover’s normally cold and expressionless face looked up in bemusement, still maintaining composure but with an attractive flush beginning to bloom all over his face and down his neck.

Luka furthered his attack, stroking ever deeper with two fingers and chasing the spots that caused Frey to react almost imperceptibly. Although the only sounds in the room were the two’s rough breathing, Luka’s heartbeat was loud enough to drown it out. He continued to knead and stretch at the soft flesh until the liquid’s heat and moisture had transferred properly and the channel contracted smoothly against his fingers.

“I’m coming in,” he said with a feral grin, extracting his fingers and rubbing the remaining lubricant along his throbbing erection.

Frey merely smiled at him, ready to receive all of Luka, with a hunger lurking just below the surface of his glassy eyes. His lips parted in a quiet gasp as he was slowly pushed into, stretching tightly around Luka, who was lost in the fiery sensation. Once he was completely inside, his heated gaze raked over the taut body beneath him, setting his core ablaze. No longer able to hold back his surging lust, he began to move, gradually at first before growing in tempo.

“F-fuck, you feel so good,” Luka cried.

Each thrust sent a shock quivering through the entirety of Frey’s body, a novel but not unpleasant sensation filling every inch of him. He turned on his side, allowing for an even closer fit as they interlocked like two halves of a whole. Luka’s breathing grew ragged as he gripped tightly to the pale, muscular thighs, trembling from the intense pressure building within him. A violent shudder ripped through him as he withdrew from the warm embrace, releasing a glistening trail all over Frey’s abdomen.

“S-sorry,” he panted, still clinging desperately onto the limbs on either side of him.

He was suddenly pulled forward as Frey wrapped his legs around his waist and dragged him down, catching Luka’s lips in a crushing kiss. Frey’s tongue penetrated every corner of his mouth, savoring his taste relentlessly.

“ _ Not enough _ ,” he growled in a threatening whisper, biting down hard on the swollen lips and holding both sides of his face. “Not nearly enough. It’s  _ my  _ turn to have some fun.”

His eyes flashed wildly, causing an involuntary shiver to course along Luka’s spine as he felt Frey’s unbridled desire, the savage and dangerous aura triggering a primal fear deep within him. He flinched in surprise and panic as he felt a second pair of hands spread him apart, two thumbs suddenly digging inside him. His previously hazy mind instantly sobered and his heart lurched when he heard a familiar, dark chuckle, flustered and confused as to how the sound could have come from his closed mouth.

“Relax,” Frey murmured from behind him, now in two places at once.

The corners of his mouth were tugged upward in a wicked smile, watching as Luka struggled to process the situation. He gasped as a hot, wet tongue darted inside him, the sensation mirrored as the Frey below him resumed the attack on his mouth. Luka’s front twitched from the assault, already growing hard once more. His raised hips gave Frey the perfect angle to grab his stiff member, stroking it sensually, while the one kneeling behind him finally entered, sending waves of pleasure through him.

“Ahhhn..." Luka moaned, feeling the familiar fullness swelling within him, rhythmically pounding back and forth. “More...I want...more..."

His arms, which he had been using to support himself, were suddenly grabbed and pulled backward, the tension holding him up albeit quite painfully. Frey rose to his knees in front of him, caressing his face with one hand before yanking his chin upward. His icy stare was cold and piercing, yet still burned with such intensity Luka thought he would turn to ash. A strong finger pried his mouth open, pressing down on his tongue and causing his mouth to flood with saliva.

“More?” he mused, enraptured by Luka’s flushed and unfocused expression. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Frey’s eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a smirk as he guided Luka to his swollen erection, already wet with translucent threads dripping down its entire length. Luka obediently opened his mouth to take him in, his jaw aching in order to accept Frey’s remarkable girth. Tears welled in Luka’s eyes, turning them into two glittering jewels that captivated Frey, making him unable to look away from the lovely and pitiful face before him. He held on tightly to the soft, dark hair while plunging deeply down his throat, brows drawn together and coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

Luka’s mind was wiped clean, thoughts, body, and heart full of only one person. He shook each time he was driven into, strength sapped from his legs that had long lost the ability to hold himself up. Frey’s movement began to pick up speed, ramming into him with such force that Luka thought he was being pierced all the way through.

“Haahh...I’m...coming,” Frey panted, every muscle in both his bodies wound tight enough to explode if he lost control for even one moment.

“Nnnnhh..." Luka’s throat thrummed as he groaned in response, sending a jolt vibrating up Frey’s member.

A scorching heat burst deep inside him and near endlessly in his mouth, filling him completely and spilling down his throat. He struggled to swallow as Frey withdrew, coughing from the sheer amount of liquid he tried to push down. When there was suddenly nothing restraining his arms and supporting him from behind, Luka collapsed forward into Frey’s embrace, tremors from the aftershocks racking his spent body. Frey gently stroked his hair and kissed every plane of his face, holding him close. Luka quickly lost consciousness, dewy tears stuck to his lashes and a peaceful smile on his face, giving him the appearance of a sleeping angel.

Later when they woke the next day, Luka would pester Frey as to why he had never done such a thing before, looking up at him with an insatiable appetite in his eyes. The response given, which was that the ability he had trained all his life to master was not meant for such frivolous purposes, was extremely on brand for the pragmatic, retired general. But the reality was that Frey was just too embarrassed and mortified to admit that the thought alone of sharing Luka with anyone else, himself included, filled him with immeasurable jealousy. Still, Luka was patient and certain that as much as he loved submitting to Frey’s dominant side, in the end Frey was the one powerless to refuse him. Their newest journey together was only just beginning, and all they needed to get through the challenges each day would bring was the comfort that they belonged to each other, completely and irrevocably.


End file.
